


Of Thieves, Hunters, Phantoms and Devils

by spiraljoel



Category: Devil May Cry, Persona 5
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Novelization, Post-Break Up, Post-Canon, Rewrite
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:16:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18649957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiraljoel/pseuds/spiraljoel
Summary: A few years after the last hurrah of the Phantom Thieves, Akira ponders why his powers haven't left him, even if they've changed somewhat, and why he can't fight the urge to interfere with the business of demons.Struggling with ennui and listlessness, Dante wonders if there's anything left for him to do that will actually matter, now that Nero's pretty much got his affairs in order.Both will find answers in Red Grave City, and more.[Full spoilers for Persona 5 and Devil May Cry 5. Updates whenever.]





	1. I'll Tell You All A Story Of The Joker And The Thief In The Night

   “Since when were you  _trilingual?_ I knew you could speak English, but --”  
  
   “My dad’s American, but one of  _his_ parents was Mexican. I know some Spanish. Not a lot.”  
  
   Ryuji immediately regretted asking.   
  
   Akira’s parents were always a sore spot for him. All too eager to dump the ‘convict’ off with a family friend he'd never even heard of. They weren’t close to begin with -- it was never outright abusive in the household, just cold. His parents felt more like his employers. He was a lot happier now, a year or so into university with his best friend, back in Tokyo, living with Sojiro and Futaba again.  


   “...Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to bring up something sore --”  
  
   “It’s fine, you didn’t mean anything by it.”  
  
   Akira inwardly chided himself for cutting off Ryuji twice in a row, realizing he was letting some old wounds make him act like a jerk. He plastered on a reasonably convincing smile and suggested a break for lunch. Ryuji, unsurprisingly, sprung for ramen.  
  
   Akira wasn’t really all that surprised to find out his ‘dad’ wasn’t really his father at all, and had met his mother shortly after he was born. They didn’t resemble each other too closely, and Akira was taller than him before he even finished high school. He did wonder why someone would have enough conviction to marry someone who already had a kid, only to utterly half-ass the actual act of parenting, but at this point, it wasn’t his business. Akira was content to accept their occasional money and uncomfortably formal e-mails in exchange for good grades. Like every other facet of his relationship with his parents, it was just business, nothing personal.  
  
   He had wondered for a while if their surprisingly generous financial assistance into his early adulthood -- Akira only had a few months left before his 20th birthday -- was supposed to be some kind of apology for the lack of care before reaching the eventual decision that, frankly, he didn’t give a shit. If it was, it wasn’t meaningful. If it wasn’t, who cares? Besides, he had other stuff to worry about. School, work, friends, normal stuff…  
  
   ...Also some not normal stuff, but since when was anything  _really_ normal for him anyway? It feels like he had essentially started a completely new life ever since that first day at Syujin. Even his name felt out-of-date, even if it was the only one he still really went by -- internally, he always felt like Joker. ‘Akira’ was just Joker’s mask.  
  
   At some point during their meal, Ryuji paused his gobbling of chashu and noodles to ask, as all of the old gang would occasionally inquire, whether Akira missed the old days, the thrills of stealing treasures and fighting for their lives.  
  
   Akira, as always, felt a minor pang of guilt when lying and saying he missed something he was still actively doing. Sitting inside his bag, Morgana rolled his eyes while Akira gave his lame fake pining for his ‘lost’ hobby. The cat was the only one who knew that, while everyone else had sacrificed their “comic book hero shit” (as Ryuji had gracefully put it some time ago) for the sake of the world, Akira never lost the rebellious powers he gained that fateful day.  
  
  He had no idea  _why,_  and it wasn’t a complete retaining. Arsene was still with him, but internally -- he hadn’t manifested physically since the fall of Yaldabaoth, but Akira retained the powers granted by his Persona’s awakening. The Wild Card was gone, taking all of his captured demons with it, but his own internal mastery of Arsene’s dark powers and the superhuman enhancement granted by him remained.  
  
   Satanael was always just a greater expression of Arsene, and without a  _literal god_ drawing forth the utter desperation of both Akira himself and the human race he counted himself a member of, he found that the untold power of that form was no longer within him. It was just Arsene again, forever loyal, even if he now only dwelled within.  
  
   “ --kira? Akira! Hey, earth to Joker!”

  “Buhwuh?”  
  
   Ryuji gave an amused but curious cocked eyebrow and smirk toward Akira, who had been staring blankly into his bowl of shoyu for several minutes now.

  
   “Dude, you were totally spacing out.”  
  
   “Oh. Sorry, just thinking about… y’know. Stuff.”  
  
   “You alright, man?”  
  
   Akira considered answering truthfully before deciding it was better not to make anyone worry.  
  
   “Yeah, I’m fine. I think we’ve spent too much time studying lately.”  
  
   “You’re telling me! I’m starting to forget what the outside of a textbook looks like.”  
  
   They both share a laugh and continue on with their comfortingly pointless conversation before, eventually, paying their bill and heading for their respective homes.  
  
   (The tendency of the two to play video games into the wee hours of the night meant they only had their coveted best-friend-roommate situation for a single semester. Akira eventually moved back into the attic of Leblanc, which by now had actually been remodeled into a finished living space. The downstairs, however, was the same as it ever was.)  
  
\---  
  
   “How much longer are you gonna keep this up?”  
  
   “Dunno.”  
  
   It’s not like the Metaverse was ever going anywhere. It was, admittedly, a pretty big shock to find out it was some kind of in-between space manifested between the ‘real’ world and what could only be described as… well… Hell. A realm of demons and hate, built on blood and fire. The deep bowels of Mementos were the closest they got to piercing the veil to the other side, and Yaldabaoth was very much a denizen of the underworld, escaped to enact his grand design on humanity.  
  
   Akira shook his head as he found himself lost in thoughts again.  
  
   The point was, the Metaverse was there to  _stay._ It was only so weird because of the runoff of both human and demonic cognition within it. The deeper you got into its layers, the more traditionally Hellish it got, as the minds of the infernal became its primary shaping force.  
  
   The name of that interstice between Mementos and the true gates of Hell stuck in his head, though -- the ‘world of the Qliphoth.’ What the hell was a Qliphoth? He sure as hell didn’t know, but the word was burned into his memory for some reason. It conjured up imagery he thought he’d rather forget -- the burning, pulsing veins (Or maybe roots? It was hard to tell what they were) of indistinct crimson  _something_ that jammed through Mementos’ abstract prison of light, steel, and concrete. The demons getting increasingly bizarre and no longer bearing resemblance to any historical myth he could think of. The  _pressure_  of the area that made it feel like you were being crushed under the weight of collective sin. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, even years later.  
  
   It should have been traumatic, but Akira, to his own bewilderment, found it just felt like  _unfinished business._ Some part of him wanted to go back and find something more, but… what was left to find? The God of Control was deader than disco. The twisted desires of the masses had been freed from their yearning for oblivion. It was pretty much just an empty black-and-red pit now, albeit one that still felt really freaky.  
  
   For two and a half years now, Akira had curbed that niggling anxiety of work left undone by adventuring solo through the remaining Palaces and other strange spots of the Metaverse. There was more to it than the Phantom Thieves ever even dreamed, with both larger and smaller locales of form to mess around in and plenty of treasure to steal.  
  
   Although lately, the thievery had felt like an excuse. Akira was gradually becoming more of a demonic vigilante of sorts, hunting out potential threats to the real world and making surgical strikes within them to cause collapse from within. Looting their goods was certainly  _fun,_ but it was no longer the primary drive.  
  
_Fun._

  
   That was the most honest word he had to describe his drive towards the Metaverse, and one he didn’t like to think about too deeply, but he couldn’t help it. He knew on some level that his actions weren’t entirely altruistic. Sure, protecting his fellow humans, especially knowing that it kept his friends safe -- it gave him as cliché of a warm and fuzzy feeling as one would imagine. But he knew deeper down, well…  
  
   Akira felt a lot more  _alive_ as Joker. The rush of fighting for his life made living it all the sweeter, and the exasperation of angry demons as a ‘mere human’  _dared_ to run circles around them, put down their elites, steal their most prized symbols of power… it was priceless.  
  
   Morgana, lacking his Persona and his more useful form now that the cognitive structure of Mementos had largely collapsed, did not accompany Akira for the most part. There was only so much a regular little cat can do against the infernal. Akira had used Morgana’s motivation to find a way to truly become human as another excuse to journey through the Metaverse, and had even found some meaningful leads, but they eventually led to disappointing dead ends.  
  
   The cat only kept Akira’s retained powers and adventures secret out of respect, frequently reminding him that the rest of the Phantom Thieves deserved to know, but still letting him be the one to decide when to come clean.  
  
   Akira frequently insisted he would tell them soon, somehow believing himself every time. When opportunities presented themselves, however, he always found himself unable to find the right words, and ironically the stress of hiding it ended up in many dangerous Metaverse joyrides to work off said stress.  
  
   “Just don’t go too wild tonight, okay? You have stuff to do tomorrow.”  
  
   “I know, I know.”  
  
   Morgana gave as disapproving a frown as a cat could muster, frustrated that Akira wasn’t even bothering to make much of an excuse anymore. They both knew he was going in habitually at this point, but Akira frustratingly wouldn’t admit it outright.  
  
   A moment of focus produced Akira’s knife, which at some point he had named after his old companion. _'Arsene'_ , the Spirit of Rebellion.Morgana told him it sounded silly. Akira told him the weapon picked the name, not him. Morgana told him that sounded even sillier, and with a laugh, the thief had agreed.  
  
   They both silently agreed not to talk about how alarming it was that his weapons were now as real in the normal world as they were in the Metaverse.  
  
   Taking a deep breath, Akira hit a few buttons on his phone’s touchscreen before shutting his eyes. A few seconds later, Joker opened his on the other side.  
  
   He was instantly within a red spotlight, and smirked as he heard alarms sound and demonic threats spouting from encroaching denizens of this latest target.  
  
_Finally._ _  
_


	2. The World Is A Manacled Place

   Staring at the ceiling, Dante struggles to find any reason to stand up. He’s been running a loop of sitting at his desk reading magazines, ordering pizza, and napping. Hardly befitting the  _ ‘Legendary Devil Hunter’ _ , but who the hell cares, really? Going through the motions is all he’s had the drive to do for a few months now. Without something to set himself up against, the aging son of Sparda finds himself paralyzed by malaise.   
  
   Would antidepressants help? It’s hard to know what works when you have a metabolism that’s as hyperactive as a hummingbird on speed. How the hell else do you maintain an eight pack abs on a diet of pizza, beer, and boredom? Honestly, it makes it hard to relax, and even then, he doesn’t really  _ like  _ relaxing. Which is a problem in itself, since he also --   
  
   Dante catches himself getting introspective and quickly throws it away. That way lies madness. He crumples up a few greasy napkins and plastic utensils into a ball and tosses it haphazardly toward the can across the room, hoping it’ll take the irritating jumble of uncomfortable thought with it. Unsurprisingly, it lands in the middle of the floor, wadded paper and plastic not really meant for long-distance airtime.   
  
   “ **¡** Jódete!” Dante grumbles, inadvertently starting an exchange of insults with literal garbage and somehow already feeling like he’s losing. He sighs at having to make the monumental effort of actually kicking his boots off his desk and walking the seven feet to finish the trip to the trashcan.   
  
_    Whatever, dude. _ __  
__  
   The most frustrating thing to Dante about the state he’s in is probably how he doesn’t have any  _ justification  _ for it. There are jobs to take if he just bothers to make some phone calls and trawl Craigslist or something for them. He has friends he could spend time with if he really wanted to. And he  _ does  _ want to. He’s well aware that he’s the only one pushing people away, and yet, Dante finds himself feeling lonely. Just… not enough to actually do anything about it, apparently.   
  
   Maybe it’s because he can’t feel objective happiness for five minutes without feeling guilty that he doesn’t have a brother to share it with. Almost twenty years gone now -- it’d be 18 years in about two months, not that he was counting, except he was -- since he lost him for the second time. And  _ still,  _ it haunted him. Sure, that’s not the kind of thing you ever fully  _ heal  _ from, but… shouldn’t he at least have found a way to cope yet?   
  
   Introspection again. Shut up, brain.   
  
   Magazine? Magazine. The latest issue of  _ Gun Freak  _ should provide a reasonable distraction, between the pretty hardware and hilariously stupid political editorials. Maybe he’ll write into the letters section again -- there’s a certain amusement in telling entirely true stories and seeing them published for the sake of ‘haha look at this weirdo making shit up’ humor.    
  
   Ten page cover story on homemade hand-cannons. That sounds familiar…   
  
\---   
  
   Dante doesn’t really remember dozing off, only awoken by the encroaching sound of Morrison’s whistling. How’d he even get in? There’s no electricity to buzz open the locked door. Ah, whatever… his handler usually has something  _ interesting  _ to talk about, if nothing else. He’ll take it.   
  
   He doesn’t bother tucking the magazine off his face before addressing his visitors.   
  
   “You could have at least  __ knocked , Morrison.”   
  
   The geezer gives an unseen smirk at the familiar scene. A loser at a dump of a desk, meaning he’ll be strapped for cash.   
  
   “Yeah, I could have. I’ve got some good news, and some bad news. Pick your poison, which you wanna hear first?”

  
   “Just speak.”  
  
   “Bad news it is!”  
  
   And so on.  
  
\---  
  
   Cash up front. It was a pretty impressive stack of cash, too… albeit a bit bloodied up. Probably stolen, but there’s no way in hell Dante was gonna track down the source. He’s a demon slayer, not a detective. And the guy giving him the job was… well, he was a weirdo, but he didn’t seem like the type to steal from someone who didn’t deserve it. Dante had a sense for these kind of things, never having any trouble with quickly making a solid judgement of someone’s character.  
  
   Ignoring all that, though, the explanation the oddball client -- V -- gave him… there’s no resisting that. _Hell_ no.  
  
   He’s letting his thoughts flow freely for once. Every anxiety, every regret, every lingering fear and hope. All the trauma. It washes over him, like a cleansing torrent from a burst dam. In a strange way, it’s so chaotic that it’s calming. For once, his apathetic detachment isn’t getting the better of him. The static over his channel is clearing up, and the picture is a mess, but it’s a mess that’s lighting a fire under his ass and in his heart.   
  
   If it’s really him -- _him_ \-- the start and end, his alpha and omega -- then this could mean everything. Fix everything? Absolutely not, that’s a whole other ball game, and it’s a plate of mental spaghetti he’s not willing to try and untangle quite yet. But it’d be a _start,_ dammit, and he’d been waiting for that entrance back to square one for years. Almost two decades. Half his damn _life._  
  
   No matter how it ended, even if it was the worst possible outcome, the one he didn’t want to think about but knew was likely to happen if V was telling the truth -- at the very least he’d have some goddamn _closure._ An end to this lingering run-on sentence that’s left him languishing in this irritatingly cliché depression for so long now.  
  
   Even if it all turned out to be bullshit, which was frankly more than likely, it still meant that V knew a hell of a lot more about Dante than he’d ever shared with anyone, and _that_ was worth looking into on it’s own. The money was too good to turn down, but it was really just a bonus here -- no matter what route this all went down, no matter how much of a disaster came out of all this, it would at least be interesting. Intriguing? Engaging? Ah, who was he kidding...  
  
   It’d be the first thing he’s done since meeting Nero that actually meant a goddamn thing to him.  
  
_Finally._ _  
_


	3. It's The End Of The World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

   Akira stared at the television agape, blending into the matching horrified expressions on the Leblanc’s evening patrons. He was frozen in place, eyes transfixed on the nightmarish image shown on screen -- presumably along with the rest of the planet. The broadcast was doubtlessly superseding all other media in just about every country on Earth. For everyone else in the cafe, it was carnage and insanity unlike anything they had ever seen, terrifying in how alien it was to any disaster they could imagine, even in their wildest fears.   
  
   For Akira, it was a nightmare made worse by its familiarity. The veins -- tentacles -- roots --  _ whichever, _ it hardly mattered now -- were just like what he had seen in the depths of Mementos, at the nest of the Holy Grail.    
  
   That word came up again in his head.   
  
_    Qliphoth. _ __  
__  
   Recently, he had done a little bit of research after spending almost a month figuring out how the fuck to spell it. It was a term used in Kabbalistic studies, sort of a Seven Deadly Sins of Jewish mysticism. Or maybe it was the other way around, given the Sins were named in the third century while the Kabbalah went back to well before the time of Christ.   
  
   Previously, Akira wouldn’t have thought of these concepts of faith so reverently, but after everything he had seen and learned in the Metaverse, he decided he should probably err on the side of caution and treat all myth and lore as true, even if he didn’t regard it as his personal gospel. It made for very anxious trips down Wikipedia.   
  
_    Qliphoth.  _ The collective evil of man and spirit, the domain of everything that is opposite holiness.   
  
   Where did he fit in? Arsene was hardly a divine spirit, and the Spirit of Rebellion was an aspect of Akira. A part of him, maybe even all of him. What did it say about Akira -- about Joker -- that his own psyche’s manifestation wielded sinister, shadowy power? Normally, he wouldn’t be one to judge on  _ aesthetics _ , but when you spend so long in a world where cognition and existence are one and the same, aesthetics and metaphor become much more important.   
  
   But this wasn’t the Metaverse. This city -- Red Grave City -- was very much a real place. A normal metropolis, a perfectly average American city with an amusing overappreciation for English architecture. The most unusual thing about the place was how hard it tried to look like London. Otherwise it was interchangeable with any first-world major metropolitan area.   
  
   As the breaking news was currently informing everyone, a colossal infernal tree had sprouted from underneath the steel and concrete, spilling out demonic monsters that were killing civilians like cattle and laying waste to everything in site. The place had become a slaughterhouse in the blink of an eye, its veneer of normalcy ripped away, leaving the people no longer safe under their ordinary reality to bleed and suffer and die.   
  
   Panic was breaking out everywhere else. Citizens wondering if their city was next. Cries that it was the end of the world. Fear and madness seeped out of the pulsing wound in normality that this towering pillar of Hell -- the Qliphoth -- had ripped open and forced itself through.   
  
   Here, half a world away in Tokyo, all Akira could do was stare at the fuzzy helicopter footage before a swinging root slammed into the camera and the screen cut to horrified, unprepared newscasters scrambling to collect themselves and read their teleprompters. One managed to start while the other broke down crying. The subtitles translating the American broadcast into Japanese ceased their scrawl along the bottom of the screen, and the feed was eventually entirely cut.   
  
   Akira finally pulled his attention away when a government emergency broadcast interrupted the news, which in itself was already interrupting a soccer game that had been healthily ignored by the cafe’s customers just a few short minutes ago. The desperate attempt to try and retain some sense of sanity by playing the same standard warning to stay indoors and not panic that would come with a severe storm warning only exacerbated how  _ wrong  _ everything about this was.   
  
   Sojiro came out of the restroom scratching his head and complaining about all the noise almost making him fall off the can before seeing the sum total of everyone’s fear and taking a look for himself.   
  
   “It’s just some lousy storm. What the hell’s the matter with all of you, never seen rain before?”   
  
   When Akira told him just  _ what  _ precisely he had missed, Sojiro shut down the cafe for the day, kicked everyone out, called Futaba back from school, and brewed himself decaf for the first time in years. The gang was all called up and soon enough the Phantom Thieves who were still able to get to Tokyo in a timely basis were all gathered round. It had been a while since some of them had seen each other in person, all pursuing their own mundane life goals elsewhere. Yusuke was studying fine art abroad as he toured around Europe; Anne had modeling work taking her back to the States; and Makoto was as elusive as she had been since getting fast-tracked to federal intelligence after graduating.   
  
   Akira never really healed from that, at least not entirely. One night Makoto was his high school sweetheart, his upperclassman crush come true, and then suddenly she was just gone. It was her dream, though, right? She wanted to be the ace detective, the watchful eyes in the night protecting the people from the underworld. Getting a glimpse of the  __ literal  underworld never changed that, so why would some boy?   
  
   He couldn’t begrudge her for it, but it still hurt.   
  
   “Hey! Earth to Joker!”   
  
   The voice of a belligerent third-year high schooler snapped him back to his senses. Futaba looked about ready to either smack him or cry, which wass about typical for the rare occasions she was actually upset with Akira. She never stopped calling him by his codename, though... 

_    Seriously? You’re spacing out about your ex-girlfriend while the world’s going to shit? _

   Akira shook off the self-directed anger before collecting himself, taking count of who was still here. Ryuji was by his side as always; they picked the same university to make sure they’d always have each other’s backs. Akira could count on him. Haru was attending a prestigious business school in town, and was always able to find time in her busy schedule for the rest of the gang. Futaba was almost finished with high school, and coming out of it with high honors, likely to receive a full ride scholarship for her astounding programming and mathematical ability. Morgana, of course, had never gone anywhere.   
  
   Sure, it wasn’t everyone, but having this chunk of the Thieves together again was almost nostalgic enough to distract from why they were all here.   
  
   “Dude, are you alright? You’re like… staring at the wall. C’mon, fearless leader, don’t give out on us now!” Ryuji gave Akira a few restrained bops on the noggin with two fingers, finally fully snapping him out of his own head.   
  
   “S-sorry. It’s just… you know. I’m still trying to catch up with what the hell happened.”   
  
   Morgana gave Akira a disapproving stare before letting it go. Akira had been immersed in the Metaverse for years now, seeing the demonic was hardly alien to him like it had become to the others.   
  
   “You’re telling me, man!” Ryuji had been nervously bouncing his leg between every pause during the conversation, adding emphasis to the growing dread with every second they spent pondering the grim reality that was happening halfway around the world. “I thought we got rid of those creepy vein things three friggin’ years ago, but… God, all those people…”   
  
   It was two and a half years ago, but this was hardly the time to mull on technicalities.   
  
   “It wasn’t anything like this back then…” Haru had her hands folded in front of her face, fingers shaky and unsteady. She was holding herself together, but only barely. “...It was just a big symbol. They didn’t come after anyone but us… And it wasn’t so…  _ big.  _ This thing isn’t some phony god’s victory lap… it’s serving some kind of purpose. It needs all those people for something.”

 

   Futaba was also covering her mouth with one hand as she clacked away on her laptop with the other. She seemed about ready to puke, but could probably be forgiven for it, as she’d taken up the unenviable task of monitoring the situation through multiple news feeds and hacked traffic cameras. 

 

   “It’s almost like it’s... harvesting. The d-demons… they’re secondary. I think they just hitched a ride on it. The tentacle things… I think they’re roots. They’re a piece of this tree thing. They’re -- they’re  _ drinking _ people. Leaving them like husks, feeding the main stem...” Futaba had never looked so unhappy to be behind a computer.   
  
   Sojiro briefly took a glance, and by his full-body wince and the color draining from his face, immediately regretted it. One second longer and the floor would probably have needed regurgitated curry mopped off it. He excused himself for a moment, in dire need of a smoke.   
  
   Akira realized he was the only one in the room who was holding himself together. Even Morgana wasn’t able to stop his paws from shaking.   
  
   This was on him. Who the hell else could do it?   
  
   “I’m going.”   
  
   Every set of eyes in the room suddenly lasered in on him, in equal amounts of shock and anger.   
  
   “What the hell are you talking about?!”   
  
   “Are you an idiot, Joker?!”   
  
   “That’s crazy, Akira… you wouldn’t last a second out there. None of us would...”   
  
   Morgana remained silent, realizing this was the moment he knew was a long time coming.   
  
   Akira only responded to Haru’s word of discouragement with a sigh and a flash of red and black around his hand. His knife manifested in an instant, the cafe’s moody lighting catching and gleaming off of its razor-sharp double edges.   
  
   There was a brief moment of stunned silence before, unsurprisingly, Ryuji was the first to pipe up.   
  
   “What the  _ fuck?!  _ How long -- when did -- how did --  _ WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?” _   
  
   Akira winced, knowing that the sound of betrayal he heard in that exclamation was entirely earned.   
  
   “J-Joker… what is that…?”   
  
   “Akira…?”   
  
   Akira shut his eyes and took a deep breath to steel himself.   
  
   “I never lost it. Some things changed, and I don’t have  _ everything,  _ but I still have Arsene in me. I never mentioned it because… no, never mind. I’m not going to bother making excuses. I lied. Through omission, but I lied to you. I’m sorry.”   
  
   He waited for the cries of betrayal and anger, only to be met by the only thing that could be worse -- dead silence. No one said anything for what felt like eternity, before the horrible silence was finally broken by Futaba’s voice, cracked and falling apart.   
  
   “...Why?”   
  
   “What?”   
  
   “Why are you so  _ stupid?” _

   Akira wasn’t expecting  _ that.  _ Futaba slammed her laptop shut, jabbing an accusatory finger in his direction.   
  
   “What the hell could you possibly get out of hiding that from us?! From  _ me?!  _ Why -- _ ”  _

   She sniffs her tears away before continuing.   
  
   “-- after  _ everything  _ we’ve been through, why wouldn’t you  _ trust us _ ?!”   
  
   The dejected stares away from Akira showed the sentiment was shared by her fellow ex-Thieves. Akira could only move his eyes from person to person, looking desperately for someone he hadn’t damaged, and not finding them. He shook his head to try and shout down his screaming internal monologue before it made him totally break down.   
  
   “I -- I was scared. You were all moving onto happy, normal stuff, and I was -- I was only ever  _ normal  _ when I was out there. In the Metaverse, taking hearts and fighting demons. I was stuck in a dangerous place that all of you deserved to leave behind. I knew if  _ you  _ all knew, you’d try and either follow me in or pull me out. I couldn’t -- I couldn’t do that to you.”   
  
   “So what, because you’ve still got your Persona, we’re too  _ smalltime _ for you?!”   
  
  Ryuji looks ready to throw a punch, something that -- for all the times Akira has seen the ex-delinquent’s temper hit that boiling point -- has never been directed at his ‘best bro.’ Akira throws both of his hands up, his knife disappearing in the process as quickly as it appeared.   
  
   “It’s -- it’s not that! It’s -- “

   “What is it, then?!”   
  
   “I can’t stop!”

   Ryuji halts up, now looking as confused as he is angry. He almost cuts Akira off again but forces an interjection down. Seeing he’s allowed to continue, Akira clutches his forehead and takes a deep breath.   
  
   “I can’t -- I can’t stay away from it. Whenever I’m not up against something I feel like I’m just passing the time. Maybe I’m just an addict, but -- I think I was meant for it. That’s why I still have my powers. Maybe it’s something inside me, or maybe something picked me -- I don’t think it was Igor, but... killing demons, breaking their castles, screwing up their plans. It’s what I’m supposed to do. It’s why I have to go.”   
  
   No one has a retort to that, until Haru -- silent since the revelation -- finally speaks again.   
  
   “And we’re supposed to let you just throw yourself into it…? Alone, by yourself?”   
  
   Again, Akira is thrown off by a response he doesn’t expect.   
  
   “I -- I get it, Akira. It’s not the same, but I spent my whole life getting groomed and prepared for something that I always knew I didn’t want. I had something else that was always pulling at me. Running a chain of cafes isn’t the same as… what you do, but… I understand.”   
  
   She shuts her eyes and inhales before putting on a determined expression.   
  
   “I can’t do as much as I used to, but I  _ do  _ have a lot of money to burn. Whatever support you need… I’ll do everything I can.”   
  
   Akira recognizes that determination. The last time he saw it, Milady made her pact.   
  
   “Me too, man! I might just be a mere mortal, but there’s no way I’m letting you throw yourself into Hell without backup. I needed something to do for summer break anyway!”

   Ryuji’s grin is as reassuring as ever, and Futaba blinks back her tears to match it with her own smirk.

  
   “You’re gonna need intel from somewhere! Now that everything’s on the cloud, I can get you eyes and ears anywhere! Heh heh.”   
  
   Morgana rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t hide his expression of determination either.

 

   “I’ve been your demon encyclopedia for a couple of years now. Don’t pretend you won’t be totally lost without my expert knowledge!”   
  
   The solidarity hit Akira like a truck, and he felt tears run down his cheeks. In the face of greater disaster than they’ve  _ ever  _ seen… even with their numbers down by half, a painful lie exposed… they’ve still got his back. He choked out a sob mixed with a happy laugh and smiled.   
  
   “...You’re all too good to me.”   
  
   Ryuji responded by throwing an arm over Akira's shoulder and grinning.   
  
   “Damn right! And we’ve got demon ass to kick, so save your crying for when I beat down more than you, Mr. Superpowers!”

  
   All is forgiven, it seems. Akira felt a weight lift off his shoulders, however slight of a relief it was from whatever nightmare he was about to get himself into.   
  
_    Just like old times… _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter I wrote while waiting for AO3 to approve me. Hope y'all are enjoying the ride, this is my first real work of prose in a good few years. I've really been enjoying it so far. Lemme know what you think so far, or if I've done that dumb thing I do where I forget what tense I'm writing in.


	4. When The Lightnin' Strikes Again, And The Lights Go Down

_“Gah!”_

 

   Nero woke up with a start, rising and just as quickly crashing back into the bed with a muted thud of bedsprings and jostled sheets. He tried several times to right himself before realizing he was trying to brace himself up on an arm that isn’t there.  
  
   “Wh--what the… _nngh…”_

   The injured devil hunter winced as pain creeped in, his only partially healed stump grinding against the sterilized bandages and plaster keeping it from exposure to open air. Even with his boosted healing factor and tolerance for pain, it was an agony like he’d never felt before, and from his perspective, that encounter with the garage was only a few seconds ago, his eyes shutting in the garage and opening in… where was this?  
  
   As the adrenaline flushed out, Nero’s eyes adjusted to the harsh white lighting of his hospital room. He wasn’t in danger, at least not that he could see at the moment… which meant he lost. That stranger took his arm and got away with it.  
  
   It took a few seconds for his vision to focus enough to realize there was a man in black standing over his bedside. When the hell -- ?!  
  
   “Wh - who the f-- _hhhgh...”_

   Nero wanted to angrily yell, but all his fury and loathing only amounted to a weak croak. His lungs felt like they’d shrank three sizes, every breath feeling too small, like they couldn’t fit in his chest. The handful of seconds he’d spent moving had already made him feel like he ran a triathlon, and his sore, exhausted body screamed for him to stop exerting effort.  
  
   “Don’t strain yourself. You’ve been in that bed for quite some time. Calm down, and we can talk. I’m not going to hurt you.”  
  
   The stranger smiled, perhaps attempting to be reassuring. It just kind of seemed weird, even if it did appear to be a genuine show of good will.  
  
   Well… that wasn’t really going to do anything for his mood, but at least Nero’s fight-or-flight response stopped firing. Panic gave way to muted irritation and mounting frustration… then resurged when he realized that because he was here, there was no one to protect the homestead.

  
   “K--Kyri-- _ngh!”_

   “The girl is safe. She is at no risk, nor are the children you caretake. Your assailant was only interested in you.”

    Nero felt a mixture of relief and humiliation as he drew ragged, tired breaths.  
  
   “Catch your breath.”  
  
   Without any other options, Nero shut his eyes tight and tried to focus on breathing slowly and rhythmically. It took a few painfully dragged-out minutes, but as he did so, he started feeling a bit less like a corpse. Breathing stopped hurting and his heart stopped pounding, bringing the searing pain and exhaustion down to a dull roar.  
  
   “How… how long have I been here?”

   “Just shy of a week. With the amount of blood you lost, your brain was starved of oxygen. You are quite lucky to be alive.”  
  
   “...Lucky. Right.”  
  
   This stranger was already getting on his nerves, but really, who _wouldn’t_ get on his nerves in a state like this? Injury had always been bad for Nero’s already poor temper.  
  
   “So who are you…?” Nero’s words were still somewhat struggled out, but he was managing short sentences without trailing off into pained gasps, at least.  
  
   “A concerned party. Call me V.”  
  
   “That ain’t any kind of name I ever heard of.”  
  
   “It’s the closest thing I have.”  
  
   “...Whatever. What do you want with me?”  
  
   “I have business with your associate, Dante, as his current client. Although he was against it, I think you would be a valuable addition to our hunt for a powerful demon.”  
  
   Nero scowled, but shoved his disdain aside for now. He could be pissed off at Dante for trying to keep him out of a gig later -- currently, he needed answers.

   Without his arm, he also found himself nagged by the frustrating thought that Dante might have been _justified_ for dismissing him. Emphatically, he pointed out his bandaged stump.

   “Even if I’m used to fighting one-handed, I’m not exactly in top form right now. Can I -- _ghhk_!”

  
    Nero was cut off by a brief coughing fit, as he realized how dry his throat was, and how empty his belly was. It was almost enough to distract from the persistent burn at the end of where his arm should have been.  
  
    Wordlessly, V pointed to the side table by Nero’s bed. There was a paper cup of water and a cheap plastic pitcher. Nero hastily gulped it down after struggling to outstretch his arm, followed by a few more cups. However, he dropped the glass to the floor with a swear when he caught one of V’s myriad of tattoos _wiggling,_ and seeming to peel from his body as it dissolved into smoky ashes that took the form of --  


   “Get a move on, slowpoke! You gonna keep napping there or get to work?! We’re real fuckin’ short on time and you’ve had enough beauty sleep!”  
  
   “What the hell?!”

    A turkey-sized infernal bird of prey had manifested from the visitor. V shook his head as Nero’s face became painted with suspicion and ire.

    “That’s a demon… don’t tell me you’re some kind of demon too?”  
  
   “I assure you I am quite human. And you’ve nothing to fear from my companions. They’re quite tame.”  
  
   “Bite me, Shakespeare.”  
  
   “Albeit Griffon is somewhat mouthy.”  
  
   V gave that strange smile again… well, at least he had a handle on the thing. And without his Bringer to tell him otherwise, all Nero had to go on was V’s word.  
  
   “I know you’re swimming in emotions. Your ordeal would have crushed the spirit of anyone lesser. ‘ _No bird soars too high, if he soars with his own wings.’_ Your arm is gone, but you still have one left. Join us, and you will have the second chance you’re looking for.”  
  
   “Oh, brother…” Griffon rolled his strange, multi-pupiled eyes at the quoted poetry awkwardly inserted into V’s pep talk, but Nero considered the man’s words.  
  
   “You’re saying… you’re going after the bastard that took my arm.”  
  
    “Such as it is, yes. I know the demon that stole it from you -- he has taken Yamato with it, and Dante is already en route to face him before he can further abuse the blade’s power.”  
  
   Nero grinds his teeth together as he feels his bitter frustration burn up into a pyre of determination.  
  
   “I’m in. I want what’s mine back. If you’re messing with me, though, you’re gonna regret it.”  
  
   “Dishonesty is not a currency I deal in, Nero.”  
  
   “Whatever. How’d you even get in here, anyway?”  
  
   “I let myself in.”  
  
   Nero was puzzled by that for a moment, before noticing the window was ajar.  
  
   “...Right. Fine. I’ll tag along, but I need to get home first. I’m not going to be much help without a sword.”  
  
   “Do what you must. I’ll meet you at our destination.”  
  
   “Where’s that?”  
  
   “Red Grave City. I’ll see you there in… let’s make it ten days, shall we? That should coincide our arrival with Dante’s.”  
  
   “Done. Don’t be late or I’ll kick your ass.”  
  
   “I should say the same for you. Farewell for now.”  
  
   “No dawdlin’, ya hear?!”  
  
   Nero ignored the bird and simply nodded.  
  
   “Yeah… see you then.”  
  
   The man departed with a graceful clamber back out the way he came, floating down into Fortuna’s cityscape by the ankles of his flying, foul-mouthed companion. Nero, left alone with his thoughts, pondered how he was going to sneak back into the garage without alerting Kyrie and the others. No way in hell were they just going to let him go off in his condition...

 

   That train of thought eventually moved toward comprehending the gravity of the mess he was in now, and just how badly he was going to have to compensate for the loss of his arm -- and Yamato with it. For that matter, how the hell was he going to get himself all the way to the mainland from Fortuna Island in just over a week…? Why was he even humoring this chicken-summoning weirdo…?

 

   Then he realized how goddamn hungry he was, and ripped the intravenous drip out of his remaining arm as he stumbled off in search of breakfast, bracing himself with an injured shoulder against the wall. That was a start he could manage at least.

 

* * *

 

   A few minutes after departing, V had chosen an inconspicuous rooftop of Fortuna’s downtown to briefly rest and gather his thoughts. Griffon sat on the edge of the chainlink fence separating the roof from the descent to the street, impatiently tapping a talon with the resultant light metal clinking punctuating his antsy discomfort.

 

   “So that brat -- Nero, that’s what ya called him, right? He’s really Dante’s kid?”  


   “That is the most likely hypothesis. It’s possible Sparda sired multiple bloodlines before meeting Eva, but the resemblance is too strong. His eyes are just like hers. That shade of blue didn’t come from the Legendary Dark Knight.”  
  
   “Y’sure ol’ daddy Sparda didn’t just have a thing for ladies with blue eyes?”  
  
   “I never knew him personally enough to guarantee that, no. Call it a gut feeling, I guess. Nero is almost certainly Dante’s kin.”  
  
   “F’you say so… neither of them seem to agree with ya. Nero doesn’t even seem to like Dante all that much, let alone call him ‘dad’.”  
  
   “I don’t think they know. From what I remember about Dante, he probably doesn’t _want_ to know. Responsibility was hardly ever his strong suit.”  
  
   “That’s rich, comin’ from you.”  
  
   “I never said I was any better.”  
  
   V chuckled slightly, looking out over the church-town as the sun set and gave way to twilight. It was a beautiful sight, and he wished he had more time to relish such simple joys. Sadly, however, he didn’t have that luxury in this ongoing crisis. He needed to finish his business with the Demon King, before it was too late.  
  
   “Griffon. Are your wings rested enough?”  
  
   “What, too good for stairs? I can take you to the street, ya lazy-ass. After that, call a friggin’ cab or somethin’. I’ve been hauling you back and forth all damn day!”  
  
   Finding Nero took some trial and error.  
  
   V nodded in agreement with his familiar, as Griffon let him take hold again before dropping him down and out of sight in a back alley. The infernal raptor dissipated back into ink and ashes as V tucked up a hood that let him blend in with the citizens of the town -- even years after the Order’s collapse, it seemed some traditions die hard. The visit here was a touch nostalgic… it had been decades since his last trip down these sanctified streets. Since… hm. That’s a memory V hadn’t dwelled on for quite some time.  


   He shook it off.

  
   He could save that for when things were resolved. For now, he had urgent business to deal with. And a city to make his way to. Thankfully, easy money was never hard to come by, with his ‘entourage’... finding someone who didn’t deserve their wealth was never a tall order. After that, he could take whatever transportation he needed to.  
  
   Red Grave… it would be a homecoming, certainly. While he wasn’t sure if he was ready for that or not, V pressed on regardless. His emotions came second; the mission was first.  
  
   Defeat the Demon King. Sever the Qliphoth. End this injustice. It was a motivation he hadn’t felt in a long time -- concern for the pursuits and troubles of anyone beside himself. It compounded on his nostalgia, providing the barest relief from the weight of responsibility on his frail shoulders.

  
   No time for reflection now. He had work to do. To draw himself forward, he reached for his oldest companion -- it had always brought him clarity in his youth, when he felt muddied by indecision. It kept his motivation focused.  
  
   The pages felt good between V’s fingers. A small sensation of his lost homestead. He couldn’t help but read aloud.  
  
   “‘ _Love seeketh not itself to please, nor for itself hath any care, but for another gives its ease, and builds a Heaven in Hell's despair.’”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So today I discovered the horizontal line tool...
> 
> Everyone point and laugh at V for being as wrong as he can possibly be.
> 
> Quotes from William Blake's "Proverbs of Hell" and "The Clod and The Pebble".


	5. Poundin' Down The Back Roads, Higher Than A Steeple

   The semester ended early in the wake of the disaster overseas. The university president apparently had family located nearby the city, departing the country within the day of the incident, and administration had broken down quickly with their head of staff abandoning his post. Classes were suspended indefinitely for the time being.   
  
   It was actually kind of weird how smoothly Akira and Ryuji were able to get themselves over the Pacific. The flight was cheap, Morgana reluctantly agreed to stay in a cat carrier for the trip, and there were no holdups at security. Granted, travel was basically  _ dead,  _ as even now, a week after emergence, nobody was eager to hop on a plane when gigantic demon trees splitting through the atmosphere were now added to flight anxieties. While unsettling, the empty state of the airport ensured that getting on their plane was painless.   
  
   Akira was glad he could stow his knife within his own spirit, but felt naked leaving his model gun behind. Sure, it was only real on one side of existence, but it felt as much like an old companion as Arsene did at this point.   
  
   Akira’s choice of major -- investigative journalism, chosen as a way to get excuses to snoop where he wasn’t meant to be, along with wanting plausible deniability for being involved in so many weird paranormal events around the city  -- meant he was able to get his old consultant on the subject to supply him with a couple of press passes. That would get them past the military barricade outside the city. Even if it was designed to keep things  _ in  _ Red Grave, not  _ out _ , it was better to play it safe.

  
   Ichiko told him she wouldn’t be an accessory to such a suicidal endeavor, to which Akira replied that he was going anyway, so she may as well supply him with the ability to do so  _ legally. _ Thus was born the crusading journalism duo of Sakamoto and Kurusu.   
  
   Although, writing his surname in English, Akira used its original spelling, from before his adoptive father had naturalized in Japan. ‘ _ Akira Cruz’ _ got some curious questions from TSA when they arrived stateside. Akira declined to answer, feigning a poor understanding of English.    
  
   Shortly after making their way out of the airport, a ride was waiting for them, complete with a handwritten sign bearing their names. It all felt like some kind of weird vacation, up to their late-night arrival at a cheap motel. The driver left them keys to another vehicle already parked in the lot -- a plain-looking, matte black Crown Vic, which was pretty clearly a repainted police cruiser. The thing would be able to handle a beating, that was for sure. Haru had made arrangements for just about every part of their journey that involved finances... including contact with a somewhat shady individual that visited the pair early the following morning.   
  
   Their contact wore a cheap suit, opaque shades, and didn’t ask questions, simply asking the pair for their names. The deal was prepaid, and the intimidating stranger left the pair sitting on a pair of  _ definitely  _ illegal firearms, and enough boxes of ammo to choke a horse. Not that there was any law enforcement left where they were heading…   
  
   Ryuji commented on how weird it was that this was  _ technically  _ his first time handling a real shotgun, and yet it felt familiar and usable as soon as it was in his hands. The thing was a Remington, probably a refitted police weapon, short barreled, and lacking a stock, just how he liked it. The wooden furniture and short barrel made wrapping his fingers around the grip and action feel like a long-awaited homecoming.   
  
   Akira’s handgun, however, was a few measures heavier than what he was used to -- his old model was light as a feather and pretty low-caliber. The heavy, long-barreled pistol that he now had hidden on his person felt like a cannon in comparison. Chambered in… ‘.50 Crazy Express.’ The name of the ammunition was so bombastic it felt silly to even say out loud.   
  
   That took care of equipment… Next up was getting there.

* * *

 

   It had now been about eleven days since the tree had emerged. Another short few hours of empty highway, and they’d reach the quarantine zone. There was nothing resembling traffic, as everyone who had been able to escape the city was already long gone. While they couldn’t do a damn thing about the  _ inside  _ of the city, the military had at least managed to keep the demonic invasion contained within Red Grave. Who knew how much longer that could last, though…   
  


   “Jesus, this is eerie… there should be cars here, right? I thought American highways were always supposed to be choked up with traffic.”

  
   Ryuji was getting antsy behind the wheel, wondering if he was really up for this. Sure, he was training to kick people’s asses professionally. The Phantom Thieves had taught him he could do more than just run, he could fight, and his old injury was a lot less of a handicap in a mixed martial arts octagon than it was in track and field. Sports were still where he felt at home, and it felt good not letting his old skills gained in the Metaverse rust away. All of that, however, can only prepare one so much for driving straight into Hell on Earth.

  
   “Well, I think it’s safe to call the current situation pretty unusual…” Akira drummed a finger anxiously against the dash.   
  
   “Don’t lose your nerve now! You two were the ones who wanted to do this.” Morgana opened one eye underneath the rear windshield, basking in the brisk sunlight. It was the transitional period between spring and summer, but it had been unusually cold in the region this year, the last dregs of winter’s chill long overstaying their welcome.   
  
   “R-right! We’ve been through worse…”   
  
   It was a lie. They had never seen anything like this. Still, the words gave the trio some sense of confidence, and that was currently a valuable resource.   
  
   The entire road trip from where they had touched down had taken about two days. Any closer airports were shut down in wake of the crisis, and the one in the city itself was obviously defunct. They had pulled an all-nighter to get there faster, arriving in the early evening. There was a disaster going on, and every second they spent not making their way there was a second spent not intervening. Even in their growing dread, the determination to cut this infernal incursion short kept them moving forward.   
  


   “Don’t forget to get your earpiece on.”   
  
   “Right!”   
  
   Ryuji dug around the glovebox for the single-ear communicators they’d be using. The things had enough battery to last weeks, and would keep them in communique with ‘mission control’ when it was go time.

* * *

 

   The border guard was too flabbergasted that a couple of college kids from Japan actually had the clearance necessary to get into the demon-infested city to actually remember to check their vehicle for contraband. After that it was a surprisingly quiet drive through ruined, empty streets.   
  
   The further they got in, however, the worse it got.   
  
   “Holy shit…”   
  
   Ryuji poked at what had once been a person, reduced to a grey, porous husk of what appeared to be  _ ashes. _ At his touch, it all crumbled away, and he backed up, startled, as the corpse disintegrated and revealed the parasitic roots within.   
  
   Fighting his instincts to run back to the car, Ryuji adjusted the strap keeping his shotgun slung around his back and knelt down to get a closer look. Akira joined him. Morgana watched through a rolled-down window, a few feet away from their parking spot on a half-destroyed curb.   
  
   “Jesus, it -- what did it  _ do  _ to them?”   
  
_    [From what I’ve been able to see on cameras, the roots that spread out around the city were harvesting something out of as many human bodies as it could get its tentacles on…] _

   Futaba’s voice over communications was a minor comfort, evoking memories of being under Necronomicon’s watchful eyes. 

   “Harvesting  _ what,  _ exactly?”   
  
_    [That’s the million dollar question, Joker. You can’t just DRAIN someone into ashes, but… well, I guess they could be drawing out something spiritual. It’s not like this is the first thing we’ve seen with no science to explain it.] _ __   
__   
   “Nasty…”   
  
   Ryuji shook his head, tightening the zipper on his hoodie. This was getting freakier by the second, and the air of tragedy and death canceled any chances of it being the nostalgic thrill ride they would otherwise be enjoying. The Metaverse never had human casualties, with rare exceptions. Here, it was surrounding them, and it put a weight of dread and responsibility on their shoulders.   
  
   “Oracle, what’s the date?”   
  


_    [Huh?] _

 

   “I wanna know the exact time my last bit of innocence died off.”   
  
   Ryuji’s joking to cope, and it does work, just a little. Futaba manages a weak chuckle.   
  
_    [Sheesh… May 15th. I’ll write it down for your therapist, Skull.] _ __   
__   
   “Thanks.”   
  
_    [Any time. Hurry up, though. The trunk of that thing is still pretty far off and you’ve only got around an hour of daylight left.] _ __   
__   
   Sure enough, the clock had stricken 7 PM just a few minutes ago. Hints of red sunset poked through cracks in the grey cloud cover overhead. It’d be pitch black, and streetlights were going to be inconsistent at best.    
  
   “Let’s get back to the car, I guess. That’s enough investiga-”   
  
   Ryuji’s statement was interrupted by the loud wingbeats of what sounded like the biggest swarm of flies either of them had ever encountered. They both whipped around to see a pack of fleshtoned, demonic parodies of worker ants beelining for them. 

 

_    {Demonic insect:  _ **_Empusa_ ** _ } _

 

   If not for the surge of adrenaline throwing the pair into high gear, Ryuji may have vomited at the sight. The things were made of  _ corpses _ , processed and reshaped into 7-foot-tall infernal insects. Both of them drew their guns, aiming to mitigate the swarm before it became a problem up close.   
  
   “Incoming!”   
  
   Ryuji was unimpressed by the car-bound cat’s warning, gritting his teeth. “Yeah, Mona, we  _ fucking saw!” _

 

   Ryuji’s buckshot and Akira’s bullets hit their marks, reducing the quintet of demons down to a trio. Arsene manifested in Akira’s offhand, held in a tight reverse grip. The blade hadn’t been tested in the human realm, yet… This would be one hell of a trial by fire.

 

   A rapid tuck-and-roll got Ryuji out of the way of stabbing, serrated bug limbs, which managed to scrape a minor cut over his back. They left gashes in the concrete as he scrambled back to his feet, taking a potshot of pellets as he righted himself that left a few holes in the demon but didn’t put it down. It was charging him, and he didn’t have time to reload, having already burned through a full tube of shots.   
  
   “Oh, shit -- !”   
  
_    “Eiha!” _   
  
   But before the bug could come for him, two exit wounds blasted open its face. Even while weaving and bobbing between bladed legs, Akira managed two bullets right in the back of the monster’s skull. The bullet holes burned with a black-and-scarlet fire, having carried Joker’s mystical power with it. It fell forward and dissolved into ash and red ichor that flew away on the wind… eerily similar to the drained human corpses.   
  
   “Jesus… Nice save, bro!”   
  
   “Lookin’ cool, Joker!”   
  
   He was too engrossed in the fight to hear them. The thrill was already overtaking him, and he grinned as he raked Arsene’s edge across the ribs of one remaining bug and sank several more dark-charged bullets into the center mass of the other. Two sets of infernal entrails dropped out of exposed chest cavities with a wet  _ splat _ , and Joker couldn’t help but smirk as they fell over and dissolved.   
  
   Ryuji and Morgana had been cheering at first, but were now just… stunned. Akira didn’t even have a scratch on him. Ryuji hissed as the excitement died down and the slices across his torso started to sting.   
  
   “Ryuji!”   
  
   “Ngh! I -- I’m fine, Mona. It isn’t deep.”   
  
   Akira returned to the two, wiping the devilish blood off of his glasses as his cocky smile faded back to a neutral expression.   
  
   “You alright, Skull?”   
  
   “Y-yeah. Fuckin’ hell, you really never stopped, huh? That was amazing…!”   
  
_    [I’ll say. I caught the whole thing on a traffic cam. You looked straight out of Kamen Rider or something! That was crazy!] _

 

   Akira rubbed the back of his head, mildly embarassed by the heaping praise, before shaking his head.   
  
   “...I’m gonna go on foot from here. You need to get that cleaned and bandaged.” There was no telling what the hell kind of nasty Hell-germs were riding on those things’ claws.   
  
   “Wh-what? No, I can still --” Ryuji took one offended step before clutching at his side again.

 

   “...Okay, point taken. Dammit, I just bought this hoodie, too.”   
  
   Joker sighed, but smiled at his partner’s compliance.    
  
   “Oracle, can you find a good vantage point for him to park after he patches up? Somewhere safe.”

 

_    [On it! I’ll give you the coordinates when you’re on your way out of that tree. For now, you’ve got a tree to break into.] _ __   
__   
   “Ngh… of course you get to hog the spotlight…” Mona shooks his head, glad he wasn’t noticed during the encounter. Ryuji gave a resigned chuckle, accepting that he’d been sidelined for the time being. 

 

   “Sorry, buddy. Take a picture for me while you’re up there going all lumberjack on that nasty houseplant.” 

 

   Akira turned to face the towering tree overhead, giving a stern expression as he took in the sight one last time before infiltration. Just as quickly, however it gave way to a smirk.

  
   “...Looks like this is gonna be one hell of a party.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So close to an actual meeting, I can almost taste it! Trust me, I'm just as eager to get there as you.


	6. Praise To My Father, Blessed By The Water

   The air in here was hostile. It burned Lady’s windpipe as it traveled down, taking a few seconds to get used to. It was a cutting odor, rusty and familiar as her the back of her hand. Human blood.

 

   A _lot_ of human blood. The implications of just how many innocent people had to have been drained dry to cause this weren’t lost on her. Even as she adjusted to the abrasive environment, the looming sense of dread didn’t slip away with her physical discomfort.  
  
   She’d seek solace in the same way she always did, though -- one-upping Dante, and killing demons as quickly as she could manage. Catharsis through violence was her modus operandi for keeping a lid on her temper, after all, and making a game of it certainly helped stop it from getting too personal.  
  
   On that note -- getting _personal_ \-- Dante had been unusually morose since they started making their way here. She had learned a long time ago now -- God, had it really been over _twenty goddamn_ _years_? -- that the son of Sparda’s wisecracking tendencies were performative. Just a coping mechanism, one that she had seen through decades ago. Usually, however, the actual performance was more… convincing. This time, Lady was catching him staring off into the distance, scowling whenever he didn’t think someone was looking, taking a second longer than usual to come up with a snappy zinger when the opportunity for one came.  
  
   In short, Dante’s mind was elsewhere, and Lady felt a mixture of frustration at his ignoring their present, along with worrying where the hell he actually was, even as they walked together, passing through the dripping gates of blood, rubble, and infernal miasma that opened into the trunk of the Qliphoth.

 

   The blink and plastered-on smirk Dante gave Lady when he caught her concerned stare was equally worrying and annoying.  
  
   “What’s the matter, Lady, see something you like?”  
  
   “Not exactly.”  
  
   “Ooh, you wound me.”  
  
   “I was wondering more where _you_ were looking.”  
  
   “What? Hey, I wasn’t the one who picked chaps and hot pants.”  
  
   “I’m not talking about me, jackass.”

 

   Dante pouted in joking disappointment as his gag fell flat.

 

   “Was it that bad? I guess I gotta get some new material. I don’t wanna get predictable.”  
  
   “That’s… actually what’s got me worried about you.”  
  
   Dante quickly frowned, visibly uncomfortable. Lady was never that directly confrontational about his deflective mechanisms, always respecting him enough to just engage as the straightman to his wiseguy. It was a routine that kept things simple and lighthearted, and having it disturbed was rare. Trying not to derail, Dante slapped the smirk back on his lips, shrugging.

 

   “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Saving the world from a demon invasion isn’t exactly out of our wheelhouse, is it?”  
  
   “Of course not. That’s not what I’m talking about -- y’know what, forget it.”  
  
   “What?”  
  
   “Nothing. Sorry.”

 

   “...Mm. Yeah, me too.”  
  
   She decided that soothing her own anxieties wasn’t worth distracting Dante. Sure, the guy seemed invincible most of the time, but being uncautious wasn’t how she survived dueling devils for so long as a ‘mere’ human being. They were behind enemy lines and needed to focus.

 

   Trish had already been scouting around for a while now. They’d part ways once she returned and informed them of where best to strike to get a better route to the heart of the tree.  
  
   Dante didn’t actually need to know, however. That aura was unmistakable. It had changed, even festered, but its core was still the same. 

 

   Power.

 

   He always needed more, the fucking addict.

 

   Well, he’d get plenty now. Right up his idiotic, resurrected ass.

 

 

_Hey, wait a second._ _  
_ __  
He wasn’t just getting one blip on his spiritual radar for his bloodline. The other presences were weak, barely perceptible in comparison to his primary focus, but they were there.  
  
   Nero?  
  
   Well, maybe, but… more than just him.  
  
   Dante shook his head and split off from Lady’s path.  
  
   “Hey, where are you going?”  
  
   “We’re short on time and Trish is late. I’ll meet back up with you later, but for now I’m taking a detour and seeing if I can dig up anything helpful.”  
  
   “You can’t just ditch me here!”  
  
   Dante gave an insufferably charming smile over his shoulder, one Lady hated how much she trusted. Not in the sense of telling the truth, but in knowing that whatever he wasn’t telling her, it would just muck shit up if he elaborated.  
  
   “Please. You can handle yourself. Hell, I bet you thought of this as babysitting me, didn’t you?”  
  
   Lady raised a finger, readying angry protests, but they fell silent past her lips.  
  
   “...Fine. You’ve got me pegged. Go, then.”  
  
   “Thank you, chiquita!”  
  
   “Stop calling me that!”

 

   Dante snickered before disappearing into the labyrinth of mashed-up urban and infernal landscapes, Lady flipping him off as he left.

* * *

 

 

   “This place is somehow even nastier than I expected.”  
  
    _[What were you expecting, food, drinks, and babes?]_

 

   “I don’t know, really, but a little preparation goes a long way.”

 

_    [Preptime is my thing! You just do the slicing and dicing.] _ __   
__   
   “Can I add rooting, tooting, and shooting?”   
  
__    [I have no tolerance for rooting or tooting, Joker, you know that. As for shooting, I doubt anyone could ever make you stop doing that.]

 

   “Heh. I guess not.”

 

   The hand-cannon’s already been treating Akira well. The recoil took getting used to, but after a scant few hours handling it, he’s already able to use the gun intuitively and -- of _course_ \-- stylishly. For whatever reason, infusing the energy dwelling in his spirit into his gunfire has been much easier with a real-steel handgun. With focus, that was doable with cognitively-firing model guns, but now? It was as natural as breathing.  
  
   If you needed proof, you could just look at the variety platter of rapidly-frying demon corpses in a trail behind the boy.

 

_    { (Dead) Cleaving vanguard:  _ **_Hell Caina_ ** _ } _

_    { (Also dead) Brutal berserker: _ **_Hell Antenora_ ** _ } _

 

_    [You’re just about to hit past where I’m able to get a signal. I’m amazed it even went this far, honestly.] _

 

   “Well, in that case, let me hear your last goodbye so I can throw it back at you when I’m done here.”  
  
    _[Christ, you really aren’t worried… And no goodbyes from me! Just do what you always do.]_ _  
_ _  
_ “Ravage them?”  
  
    __[You know it.]

 

   “Thanks, Oracle. Heading in now.”  
  
    _[Best of luck, Joker. You call back as soon as you have a signal, you hear me?!]_ _  
_ __  
“Of course.”  
  
   Another few steps, and, sure enough, the signal went dead. Akira pulled out the earpiece, pocketing it and taking in the soundscape of the Qliphoth’s interior. Even if it was a tree, it looked more like a giant organ system, with walls of meaty bark and wood mashed up against broken concrete and rebar. Brittle, keratin-like grass grew out of the patchwork of earthly and hellish ground, crunching underneath Akira’s sneakers. It was all so gruesome, far worse than anything the Metaverse had to throw at him. And, of course, it all reeked of blood.

 

   What a _challenge!_ _  
_ __  
Unsurprisingly, more and more demons rolled into Joker’s path one way or another -- some burrowing through the tree, some emerging from dripping portals of ichorous filth, and yet more walking through portals to what was presumably the true underworld. He slashed, sliced, and shot his way through everything the place could throw at him, Arsene’s power surging from its blade into his hands in a flowing circuit of dark power.   
  
   He ditched his jacket after a few hours, down to a bloodstained black gym shirt that clung to his skin with sweat and ashy gore. Demon blood and viscera burned itself away, so he was never too filthy for long, but frankly, he wasn’t paying attention to anything besides the thrill of the hunt -- and the treasure waiting for him at the end of it. The heart of the Qliphoth.

 

   Akira could feel by now, deep into the layers, that there were _presences_ waiting for him, and they were very much alive. It was hardly surprising. Everything demonic always seemed to have an agenda, why would a tree be an exception?  
  
   He felt no apprehension in confronting and killing the beast responsible. It would be fitting vengeance for the hundreds -- _thousands_ \-- drained and desecrated by this nightmare. That wasn’t what gave him pause for a moment.  
  
   The presence was approaching __him. And it felt strangely familiar, like…

 

_    “Arsene?!” _

 

   “Who?”  
  
   Akira whipped around to find the business end of a massive claymore pointing straight between his eyes, no more than an inch away. What the fuck?! Who the hell could get the drop on him like that?!  
  
   The stranger holding it seemed as confused to see the boy as Akira was to see him. Some American guy -- big surprise, genius, where do you think you are? -- with white hair and a flashy coat. He was setting off Akira’s sixth sense like wildfire -- while he just looked like some  aging rockstar out of rehab, the stranger’s spiritual presence was comparable to… 

 

   ...Actually, Akira couldn’t think of anything to finish that thought. There was no comparison to make.  
  
   “You’ve got a wild look in your eyes, chico. Not going feral on me, are you?”  
  
   Joker’s startled expression gave way to a glare. This guy was already annoying enough for him to forget how goddamn intimidated he was a second ago.  
  
   “Sorry, cat gets my tongue when I’m an inch from getting impaled through the skull.”  
  
   “Heh.”  
  
   Dante took a few steps back before shouldering his faithful companion. Rebellion sat comfortably, the skull of her hilt seeming to stare straight into Akira’s eyes.  
  
   “Okay, fine. But I’m gonna warn you, I’m pretty low on patience, and I’ve already put down a few demons trying to loot this nasty ass place. I’m sure you don’t wanna be another notch on the belt, right?”  
  
   “What?”  
  
   “Quit playing dumb, kid, you’re dripping demonic power. You really think a crappy disguise like that’s gonna fool anyone if you don’t bother hiding all that energy?”  
  
   The _click_ of Akira’s magnum was the only answer he gave Dante, leveling the sights with the man in a rapid motion. Dante laughed in reaction, only furthering the thief’s irritation.  
  
   “Aw, did I strike a nerve? C’mon, you’re not giving me a lot to work with, here.”  
  
   “I’m not a demon. Just a thief, that’s all.”  
  
   “And I’m the goddamned queen of England. So you _are_ here for it.”  
  
   “I don’t even know what _it_ is.”  
  


   “Sure, sure. That’s why you’re shredding a path through all the small fry like your life depends on it, huh?”  
  
   “Get out of my way.”  
  
   Dante shook his head with a smug grin before disappearing in a flash of strangely familiar red and black. Akira blinked before swinging around again, finding that the man was, again, behind him, this time pointing two oversized handguns in his face.  
  
   “That’s my line, kid. Didn’t your pops teach you to respect your elders?”  
  


   The proverbial straw snapped Akira’s camel in two at that last quip, and he responded with a rapid thrust of Arsene as he ducked the twin firearms.  
  
   Dante wasn’t expecting any actual resistance, and felt a small zing of pain as the knife dragged a shallow cut up his chest. Didn’t evade _quite_ quickly enough. It was, however, the only sucker punch Akira would manage, as his opponent nonchalantly backed up and weaved between every stab and slash the boy could throw out.  
  
   “I don’t have a father worth mentioning -- I just don’t like you!”  
  
   “Sheesh! You should really see a therapist, you sound just like a real misguided youth.”  
  
   “Shut _up!”_

 

   Again and again, Arsene slashed a trail of red through the air, while failing to meet its mark.  
  
   Dante felt a strange twinge of nostalgia and familiarity as he toyed with the thief -- especially with that knife. It was weird, he’d never seen it before, yet it didn’t feel like the first time it had nicked his torso.  
  
   A uppercutting pistol-whip ended Akira’s assault, knocking him upward. In the delirium of getting smacked upside the head, he had a vague awareness of something above him. When his back smashed into the ground, it brought focus back to his vision, and he realized it was that sword, careening downward with the edge raring to split him in two.

  
   “Gotta say, kid, I’m not impressed!”  
  
    _“Eiga!”_ _  
_ __  
“Ei-what--?”

  
   Dante didn’t get to finish the syllable as a blast of dark power knocked him out of his helm splitter, though he managed to recover before landing. He skidded to a stop as he landed, boots scuffing against the Qliphoth’s floor and leaving a trail of dusty ashes in the rusty air behind him.  
  
   “...Okay, fine. You got one on me. But that’s all you’re getting, pendejo!”  
  
   Akira, breathless and ragged, struggled to his feet.  
  
   “...Takes one to --ngh-- know one… asshole…”  
  
   Dante’s stance loosened. Hey, he didn’t jack him up that hard, he shouldn’t be hurt that ohhhhhhhhhh shit he just severely injured a regular person didn’t he?  
  
   “Hey, hey! That’s enough. You lost, get over it and get out of here.”  
  
   “Y-you… you talk too much.“  
  
   Two gunshots swung wide, Akira’s shaky grip no longer bearing his trademark pinpoint precision. Dante glanced behind him at the two bullet holes smoking in the rubble behind him, hissing with a mix of gunsmoke and infernal energy.  
  
   “...Alright, fine. You’re not a demon. Too weaksauce for that. So how’s an anklebiter like you using devil arms and demonic power?”  
  
   “Wh-what?”  
  
   “What do you mean, ‘what?’”  
  
   “I don’t know what the hell you’re t-talking about…”  
  
   “...Alright, shit. Just… get going. You’re not smashed up too bad, so find a corner to catch your breath and finish crapping yourself and go home.”  
  
   “...D-dammit.”  
  
   Akira, humiliated and hissing in pain with every breath, tried to take aim again, but with another trick of red, Dante was right in front of him, and a much more conservative bop on the head put out his lights. He tumbled down, arms catching him gingerly as his vision blurred and gave way to unconscious oblivion.  
  
   Dante sighed in frustration, internally chastising himself for being too amped up to hear the stupid kid out.  
  
   “Madre de flippin’ Dio, I didn’t sign up for babysitting again…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the wait! Shouldn't be as long next time. Good LORD this was fun to write, though, I think I'm starting to get the hang of action choreography in prose.
> 
> Everyone rub your hands in anticipation for utter disaster next chapter! I can't wait!


	7. Dancing With The Devil, Sweatin' Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The violence starts getting pretty damn intense here. Ye possessed of weak stomachs, turn back now.

“ -- Up! C’mon, dude, you’ve been through worse… C’mon, cmon!”   
  
Akira dimly felt the world starting to reform around him as the inky dark of unconsciousness faded out. His eyelids sluggishly dragged themselves open as the silhouettes in front of him came into focus. Two men, one squatting in front of him -- Ryuji -- and another behind him, a stranger in a black coat.   
  
“Your companion seems to be rousing, ‘dude.’”   
  
Ryuji broke from his anxious pleading to stare back incredulously at the stranger.   
  
“Wow, you are never allowed to say the word ‘dude’ again. You sound like a grandpa on Facebook.”   
  
“I assume that’s a bad thing…?”   
  
“...Anyway. Earth to Joker, man! We’ve got better places to die than this dump.”   
  
Akira held his hand to his aching forehead, a pulsing, dull pain setting in.   
  
“Ugh… h-how long have I…?”   
  
The stranger shook his head.   
  
“Not long. You would be dead, otherwise. The Qliphoth has little tolerance for inaction, even if you were placed out of sight.”   
  
“Qli...photh… heh… I knew it.”   
  
Akira smirked slightly as he straightened out his slumped posture, leaning against the infernal woodwork that currently served as his seat. Ryuji looked between the two of them, confused.

 

“Klai--what?”   
  
“Qliphoth. This tree. It is a demonic rite of passage. Every two thousand years, its roots spread from Hell to Earth, absorbing as much human blood as possible to produce a fruit. Whosoever manages to consume that fruit will take the throne as the next Demon Emperor, undoubtedly with the intentions to continue harvesting humanity.”   
  
“Oh. That sounds… bad.”   
  
“Indeed. I am curious, however -- how does your friend know of it?”   
  
Akira shook his head this time, and struggled back to his feet, ignoring the throb of his headache.   
  
“Doesn’t matter… Ryuji, get out of here. I’ve got business to finish.”   
  
“No way, man! You got your ass kicked by the Demon King, right? I’m not ditching you now! Besides, I’m all bandaged up, I can get around fine.”   
  
“Huh…? Demon King?”   
  
“Yeah, this guy told me all about it. He’s a Persona user, man! Saved my ass from a bunch of those ghoul things and brought me to you.”   
  
“I did already tell you… my partners are not the same as the power you told me of. Similar, perhaps, but -- ”   
  
“Yeah, yeah. Introduce yourself, hairgel, we have places to be.”   
  
The stranger gave a simple bow, even cracking a smile in amusement at Ryuji’s mocking nickname. Akira wasn’t so amused, obviously distrusting.   
  
“...You have a name?”   
  
“Call me V.”   
  
“Close enough… the ‘Demon King’ wouldn’t happen to be some jackass in a red coat, would it?”   
  
“Hm…? No, but that is an associate of mine, if you are speaking of Dante. Did he carry a sword?”   
  
“Yeah. Big hunk of metal. Skull on it. Looked right out of an album cover. Two guns, too.”   
  
“Then it is certain. Given your…  _ tone,  _ I assume your introduction went poorly?”   
  
“He ran circles around me and gave me a concussion. Probably.”   
  
“Mm. Yes, that does sound like something he’d do, given the agitating circumstances of this place for him.”   
  
Joker scowled, looking down at his empty hand before a crackle of black and red energy summoned Arsene. Still by his side, thankfully.   
  
“Ah -- I see. He must have mistook you for a devil, wielding powers like that. Of course, he was only half-right.”   
  
“What?”   
  
“Huh?”   
  
Akira and Ryuji gave V confused stares, which he met with a knowing, gentle smile.   
  
“I take it you didn’t know. You’re wielding demonic power, little one, and I can tell it isn’t stolen.”   
  
“What are you talking about?”   
  
“I can’t say for certain, but there must be a devil somewhere in your family tree. I can sense the natural way your power is flowing. It’s hereditary, without a doubt.”   
  
“That’s ridiculous. Do I look like I’ve got horns and hooves?”   
  
Akira didn’t want to admit how much sense that made.

 

“No, but you’re surging with dormant strength. I can feel it below the surface -- a presence, within you. Your inner devil.”   
  
“...Oh. I think that’s Arsene, right, Joker?”   
  
“Ah. It has a name? Perhaps you are simply possessed. In that case, excuse my misjudgement.”   
  
Akira sighed.   
  
“It doesn’t matter. We have a Demon King to kill, I guess.”   
  
“Indeed.”   
  
Akira and Ryuji blinked.   
  
“Wait, you’re not going to tell us to leave?”   
  


“No. That would likely be more responsible, but if you can excuse a degree of selfishness, I need every set of hands I can get to defeat this devil.”

 

“Does he have a name?"   
  
“Yes. What about yours?”   
  
    Irritated by the technically sufficient but unhelpful answer,  Akira thought for a moment before deciding he would play V’s game of aliases.   
  
“Joker.”

 

“Ah? How interesting. You fancy yourself a wild card?”

 

“Something like that.”   
  
“Hey, hey, hey! Are we gonna do cryptic cool-guy talk at each other all day, or are we gonna go bust a cap in a big ugly demon?!”   


V smirked, turning to Ryuji but addressing Akira.   
  
“You can sense the way, correct, Joker?”   
  
“Yeah, I can.”   
  
“Lead us to it, then. I will take the rear guard.”   
  
“...Sure.”   
  
The distrust was still plain on Akira’s face, but he was out of options at this point. Especially with Ryuji in here… patched up or not, Akira didn’t like having his best friend risk himself for his own stupid ass just because he got knocked around by some kind of demon hunter.

 

* * *

 

 

**"YOU INSULT ME WITH YOUR PETS, SWORDSMAN."**

 

    Dante grit his teeth as Rebellion clanged against stabbing crystalline structures that burst forth from the strange gem cluster. Acting as a meatshield for the seated Demon King, it moved faster than his vision could track. He couldn't get a hit in.

 

    "This from the guy who's happy to sic all of Hell on me while he sits his ass in an oversized lazyboy -- ngh!"

 

   Urizen gave a dismissive wave of his fingers as Dante barely managed to block an incoming tentacle and skidded backward against the bloody ground.

 

**"THOSE PESTS ARE NOT MY SERVANTS. THEY LACK MEANINGFUL POWER. THEY ARE AS PETTY AND WEAK AS YOUR OWN COMPANIONS."**

 

    "God, shut  _ up,  _ I get it, you wanna sound like Darth Vader!"

 

    Urizen showed no visible reaction to the banter as Dante continued to struggle to keep up with the multi-angled barrage of tentacles, crystals, and blasts of fell magic.

 

**"FOOLISHNESS."**

 

    "Yeah, yeah -- you're repeating yourself, you know!"

 

**"YOU SPEAK AND STALL, BUT YOUR REINFORCEMENTS WILL NOT SAVE YOU. THEY ARE EMPTY VESSELS, NOTHING MORE."**

 

    "Reinforceme -- what the hell are you talking abou--  _ HRK!" _

 

    The brief distraction was all it took, as a Qliphoth tendril exploded through Dante's abdomen, trailing his guts forward in front of him. He shouted in agony and frustration before the root flinged him off and sent him smashing into a wall of the chamber. He clattered to the ground, trailing blood as he made a splattering impact.

 

**"POINTLESS."**

 

    It was far and away the largest wound Dante had ever received. He lay bleeding and groaning as consciousness faded. He didn't know if his healing would be enough. Not this time.

 

    Nothing was certain anymore.

 

    He tried to speak, but all that came from his lips was blood and bile mixed into a nasty, useless slop.

 

_     Well… shit. Guess my cards are all on the table now. _

 

    Dante could already feel his muscles and bones weaving themselves back together again, desperately trying to replace what was lost before it was too late. He closed his eyes, knowing that there was about even odds he would ever get to open them again. 

 

_     Heads or tails… _

 

* * *

 

 

    "What the hell is this, V, daycare?"

 

   Ryuji raised an irritated pointer at the white-haired stranger.

 

   "Oi, lefty, what the hell did you just --"

 

    "They are only a handful of years your junior, Nero. Both have proven themselves more than capable Devil Hunters on our way to meet you."

 

    "Damn straight, hairgel! We're for real."

 

    Ryuji had saved a selfie with himself holding a hapless Hell Caina in a headlock to post on the Phantom Thieves group text later.

 

    "Riiiight… fair enough. I guess I started as a teenager too."

 

     Nero scratched his head, given the duo a once-over as Ryuji huffed and Joker stared off in impatient boredom.

 

     "So, uh… are we all going as a team, or…"

 

     "I will scout ahead with… what was it?"

 

     "Skull."

 

     "Mm. Together we will root out whatever opposition may slow us down. You will go with Joker and handle cutting them down."

 

    Akira nodded, more than happy to blow off some steam with a good round of demon slaying. With someone who looked competent, too.

 

    "Fine by me. But the big one is mine, got it? I've got a score to settle with -- "

 

    "Get in line."

 

     Nero blinked as he was interrupted by Akira, cocking an irritated eyebrow.

 

     "We don't know what the hell we're getting into, and between your one arm and my splitting headache, our options our limited. If we don't fight together we may as well be throwing the white flag up now."

 

    "...Fine. Get in my way and I'm chucking you aside."

 

     "Whatever."

 

     Ryuji and V exchanged concerned stares before heading forward. A handful of Empusa burrowed out behind them, but turned their attention to Nero and Akira as the other pair quickly got out of reach.   
  
_      “I asked a thief to steal me a peach; he turned up his eyes…” _ __  
  


     “Huh?”

 

* * *

 

    Akira tightened a glove as Nero gave the Red Queen an anticipatory rev. In a handful of seconds, the two became a  _ blender, _ shredding through everything the Qliphoth was throwing at them without so much as a bead of sweat.

 

     Oddly, they seemed to cover each other's weaknesses instinctually, as if they had been fighting together for years. Both of them gave confused glances to each other as they performed complex two-man maneuvers without so much as a word of communication. It gave way quickly, however -- Joker's excited grin took over his face, as an aggressive scowl stared daggers into all that opposed Nero.

 

    The two of them dashed with competitive aplomb, both wanting to be the first to the doors into Urizen's chamber. Nero won by a hair, Joker almost crashing into him as they entered the throne.

 

    Dante wasn't far away, barely breathing as he lie defeated on the ground. They were spared the sight of his viscera, the wound mostly shut. Lady and Trish were both writhing in opposite corners of the chamber, out of reach.

 

    "Well… looks like this won't be a total waste of time after all."

 

    Akira stared off to the incapacitated man -- the same man that had made a fool of him earlier. It filled him with slight satisfaction that was instantly dispelled by realizing what it implied about the power they faced now. Too late to back out, though...

 

    "Hey, JACKASS!"

 

    Unperturbed, Nero took a few steps forward, vengeance and injured pride clouding any sense of fear that may have dwelled in him.

 

     The seated Demon King hardly glanced up in response as Nero approached, Akira trailing just barely behind.

 

     "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's not nice to steal?"

 

**"HRRM."**

 

     He didn't expect an actual response. The pair stalled as the King leaned forward.

 

**"...NO. YOU HAVE NO VALUE TO ME. YOUR KIN DISAPPOINTS, DANTE."**

 

     "Kin? Hate to break it to ya, chief, but he's just another guy descended from Sparda. Dunno how close that makes us, but he sure as hell ain't my pops."

 

**"MUST I FACE A LEGION OF THE DARK KNIGHT'S FAILED SEED?"**

 

     Nero huffed at the insult, but Akira was more confused than anything.

 

    Some of those eyes --  _ way  _ too many eyes -- were looking at him. It didn't just feel like simple attention. He was being addressed as much as Nero.

 

    "Maybe… but I'm up first!"

 

     Nero rushed ahead, leaving the thief behind as he wreathed the Red Queen in flames. It crashed against Urizen's crystal guardian in a spray of sparks and flame, locked in place as new gemstone grew in to replace whatever he could chip away in furious slashes and swings.

 

     Akira found himself occupied by tendrils of the Qliphoth, weaving between stabs and slams of the strange appendages. Arsene could cut through them, but new roots would grow as quickly as he could hack away the old ones. It was all he could do to keep up.

 

     Urizen watched the pair from his throne, intrigued at their complementary fighting styles. One brought finesse and speed, the other brought strength and tenacity. It would be worth studying, to perhaps find some way to draw more power that he may take for himself from the duo.

 

     Both held the blood of Sparda within their hearts, that much was certain to him. Urizen could not ever forget that scent. Diluted, perhaps, but all the same.

 

     It was only when Nero was swiss-cheesed by crystal needles that Akira broke from the tendrils to try and support him more directly. It was for naught, however, as he was blasted away by a beam of infernal light that burned his flesh. It was a searing agony he had never felt the likes of before, and he fell to the ground screaming as his skin crackled and charred. Nero was tossed aside by a gesture from the throne’s occupant, and shouted in anger and pain as his multitude of wounds began to heal, trying and failing to keep up with the beating he had received.

 

     V and Ryuji, long since outpaced by the other pair, arrived just in time to witness their companions’ total defeat.    
  
  
    “This is it! This is the end, it’s all over!”

  
     Griffon received no response. Neither could manage a word.   
  
     In a final act of desperation, spurred on by incredible pain and unshakeable determination not to die in vain, Akira whipped Arsene as hard as he could. The blade whistled through the air, cutting a red trail, before the Demon King held his hand out and it simply  _ stopped.  _ Arsene hung, floating in a strange bubble of infernal power. __  
__  
**“HOW BORING.”** ****  
  


    With a single, uninterested rotation of his finger, the Demon King turned Arsene around, and returned it to the sender.   
  


_     Crunch. _

  
_     “AKIRA!” _ __  
__  
    They had never stood a chance. ****  
  


    Time froze for Ryuji in that instant, as Akira’s pained cries came to a sudden stop with a nasty sound of metal embedding into bone and flesh. His own knife had driven straight through his forehead, the very tip of its blade emerging out the back of his skull and dripping a thin trail of blood.

 

    The thief fell, silent, still smoldering, as V tried and failed to keep Ryuji back.   
  


    He rushed forward only to be batted aside by another tendril. It went for the kill, aiming to impale Ryuji as it had Dante before -- but it was interrupted by empowered gunfire.   
  
    Dante’s trigger hand shook as he barely managed to struggle to his feet, wobbly and unable to balance properly. His stomach still felt like hell, but all his pieces were back inside and mostly functioning, and that was enough.

 

"Round two."

  
  
    Nero barely managed to get on his knees as the King refocused on the legendary Devil Hunter, who triggered his inner demon to complete his healing faster and gain enough strength to buy time. Rebellion smashed into Urizen’s protective barrier, held up with a single unimpressed hand.   
  
_     “V!  _ Get Nero out of here! This was a bad move!”   
  
    “I -- I can still fight!”   
  
    Just speaking made Nero feel like he was straining every single strand of muscle tissue in his body. He seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as anyone else.   
  
    “Nero,  _ GO! You’re just dead weight!” _ __  
  
    In Dante’s mind, his words were just trying to get the kid out of there, make sure he didn’t get himself killed too.

  
    To Nero’s ears, it shattered everything about himself that he believed in. 

 

    He wrenched his remaining arm free from V’s weak grip, as his entire reality seemed to crumble around him.   
__  
_     “BACK OFF!” _   
  
    “Come on!”   
  
__     “LET GO!  Those kids are still -- FUCK!”   
  
    “It’s too late, dammit! We must leave here! He is far stronger than we ever could have imagined…!”   
  


    Guilt. Rage. Humiliation. Fear. Pain. Despair. Nero’s mind was a maelstrom.   
  
    Akira’s was silent.   
  
    His heart had stopped, his brain damaged beyond repair. Flesh burnt to a useless, crushed crisp.    
  
    He was dead, or at least he thought he was.   
  


**_Here we are again, my friend. Even the same companion at death’s door. How curious._ ** ****__  
__  
    For the first time in almost three years, he heard Arsene’s voice.   
  
_     Arsene…? _ __  
_  
_ ****_Yes._

 

_     Where have you been? _

__  
_  
_ **_You should already know that I am always with thee._ **

 

_     ...Right. Why only speak up now? Drama? _

__  
_  
_ **_Ask thine own self. It is thee who has not accepted my return fully. Still believing me seperate, you have shut me out._ **

 

_     I didn’t -- I thought you were gone. _

__  
_  
_ **_One cannot truly lose thine own self. Not entirely. I am merely a piece of thy puzzle. Let me in, and we will be complete again. Don’t you remember our vow?_ **

****__  
**_  
_ ** _      ...Of course. How silly of me. No wonder I couldn’t summon you -- I was trying to summon myself. That’s just stupid. _

 

**_Folly is how one learns. Though thee may be chained to hell itself, thine own justice and the strength of thy will -- these will bring absolution! Our life is not theirs to take!_ **

 

_     I am thou. _ _  
_

_  
_ **_As thou art I._ **

****__  
**_  
_ ** _   Heh heh... _

****__  
****__  
    As Rebellion shattered, and Nero was dragged away, Akira’s body repaired itself. His heart began pumping so hard, it should have  _ exploded _ , and the black scorches covering his skin began to harden and segment into reptilian scales and insectoid chitin of jet black, stark white, and blazing crimson. Wings exploded from his back, formed of a multitude of feather-like blades forged from blackened gunmetal.    
  
    A laugh emerged from him, sinister and ominous, as a flap of his wings forced his body upward while his smashed joints snapped back into place. He was hunched over, face to the ground as a hand with fingers like blades reached around Arsene’s hilt. His laughter increased in volume and distortion as he slowly dragged the blade of out his skull and raised his face to meet the gaze of his killer.

 

    His eyes burned trails of bright scarlet into the air like bloody fire. His teeth had become a maw of red needles, lacking any sort of lips. Bony protrusions from his face evoked the shape of his old mask, long since thought lost. Two horns, forward-facing and aggressive, burst forth from his forehead, and a shell of black and white chitin wrapped around his scalp. Metallic protrusions emerged from his skin, forming what seemed to be an imitation of fancy buttons and buckles, like some mad demonic parody of an old-timey gentleman.

 

    Drunk on the feeling of invincible freedom, his first true Devil Trigger clouding his ability to think straight, Joker could only comprehend one thing -- he wanted  _ up. _

 

    With a harsh flap of steel wings, Joker was skyward, shrieking through the air and straight out the top of the Qliphoth, flying into the dark sky with wild abandon. The tree’s tendrils gave chase, only barely falling behind, but unable to keep up nonetheless.

 

    The open air under the moonlight felt like heaven as he exploded through the Qliphoth's apex, a silhouetted hellion against the bitter stars that roared in devilish joy.

 

    He was  _ free  _ and  _ powerful  _ and  _ without a care _ and  _ happy _ and then he was out of time.

 

    The delirium wore off as Joker hit terminal velocity, human again, clad in a new rebel's garb and falling.

 

    He had time for one thought before hitting the concrete.

 

_     Well, at least I'll die in a cool outfit. _

 

   Everything went black again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, I wasn't INTENDING for this to be so brutal, it just kind of happened. And Nero technically died for a minute before getting the Yamato DT, right? 
> 
> This was a blast to write, though. Hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed typing it up.


	8. We Stay Possessed By What We Lost

_“FUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!”_  
  
    Nero was almost fully healed, but he still felt the pain of that thrashing he had taken like it was ongoing. The grass on the highway-side stained his knees with green as he wailed skyward. He was out of the city limits, but it hardly gave him any relief.  
  
    Two _kids._ Total _strangers._ And now they were almost certainly dead because he was still too _weak_ to kill the Demon King -- Urizen, as V called him _._ With that failure, he had seen the only man he looked up to (though he’d never admit that) completely dismiss any sign that he had faith in Nero.  
  
    Now he was supposed to find a way to get stronger in a month. While V was to run damage control, wrangling out civvies as best as he could manage,, Nero had to hunt down any form of power he could get his hands on.  
  
    He didn’t even know how he was going to get home, let alone where he could start looking.  
  
    “...Fuck… fuckin’... fuck, fuck.”  
  
    Nero didn’t have the energy left to scream anymore. He felt a pang of phantom pain in his stolen arm before crashing face-first into the dirt.  
  
    The morning rolled around a few hours later, and he dragged himself to a gas station. His phone was smashed to pieces, so he needed to get to a payphone. The cab driver, thankfully, didn’t work up the nerve why Nero was caked in dried blood and soot.  
  
    _Fuck._

 

* * *

 

 

    _“Ack!_ Bad kitty, let go of me! Ow, fuck!”  
  
    _“YOU STUPID BASTARD!”_  
  
    V watched the talking housecat wrestle with his bird for a few moments before sticking his cane between the two of them and wrenching the pair separate.  
  
    “Jesus! Oh, man, I thought he was gonna go for my neck --”  
  
    “Quiet, Griffon. I’m sorry, little one. I didn’t realize how outmatched we were.”  
  
    _“Didn’t realize?!_ You just marched my friends straight into the grave, you idiot! _”_

Griffon dispelled himself, not wanting to be part of this. Morgana was about as intimidating as an angry housecat can manage (not very), but it didn’t make his anger and sadness any less palpable. V felt the crushing weight of guilt set in on top of what was already weighing so heavily on his shoulders. In his blind desperation, he had just robbed this individual of two clearly quite dear companions. He needed to at least try and make things right.  
  
    “...I will do what I can to amend my error. For now, I am focused on finding and evacuating as many of the surviving populace as I can. That includes you.”  
  
    “No way.”  
  
    “What?”  
  
    “I’m staying. I owe it to them to do what I can, too…”  
  
    “...I see.”  
  
    “And… and I saw something come out of that thing. The tree.”  
  
    “The Qliphoth.”  
  
    “Y-yeah, that. It was… I dunno. It could have been nothing, but I can’t leave any chance one of them is out there alone.”  
  
    “Mm. Hope is all we can hold onto in this crisis… you are a wise thing, little one.”  
  
    “Save the inspiring stuff. I’m doing this for my friends, not for you.”  
  
    “That... is fair.”  
  
    V turned and looked out over the city, now mostly silent, but undoubtedly still holding many unfortunate souls hiding out under whatever could shield them. It was all he could think of to do while they waited for Nero to return -- control the damage. Prevent at least one more tragedy from adding to this sea of misery. He was only one man, one blade in the field of grass, but he could not simply wait. His conscience had enough weight on it already.  
  
    “You’re not hard to find, so I’m going to scout around. I’ll come back to you when I find something that needs cutting up.”  
  
    “Very well. Best of luck, little one.”  
  
    “Whatever… and stop calling me that. My name’s Mona.”  
  
    “Mm. You can call me V.”

 

    “I think I’ll stick with ‘bastard’ for now, bastard.”

  
    “Ah. Fair enough, I suppose.”

 

* * *

 

 

    Weeks go by. Some good is accomplished, but never enough.

 

    The hunter and the thief both sleep, hidden by the blades passed down from their fathers.

 

    Those left behind are repurposed. Hidden potential, locked away, is found by the Demon King, and he makes use of it. The nightmares of his enemy shall become his strength -- his power.

 

    Thus the pieces fall into place.

 

 

* * *

 

    “Calling King’s Court. This is Sovereign. King’s Court, come in.”

  
    _[Hearing you loud and clear, Sovereign. You’ve made it into the city?]_

 

“Yeah. It’s a mess… should have come sooner.”

 

    _[Cutting through red tape takes time. This isn’t your usual clandestine operation where we come in under the table and slip out unnoticed. You’re here in an official capacity, and we’re cooperating with the Americans.]_

  
The woman overlooking Red Grave’s edge booted her motorcycle’s kickstand out, standing up from the seat.

“Why are we still using codenames, then?”  
  
    _[Protocol still applies, and it makes the after-action writeup easier.]_  
  
“Right… I’m heading in now. Activating my frame.”

    **[INITIALIZING. TYPE-03 POWER SOURCE AT 100% CAPACITY.]**

  
    Underneath the black and navy of her hand-tailored three-piece suit, Sovereign’s gear whirs to life. Servos and motorized joints assisted her movements and enhanced her physical strength, thin alloy plating unfolded underneath her sleeves to protect her limbs and chest, and monitors on her handler light up with displays of her vital signs and current location. A few ports poked through carefully-sewn gaps in her sleeves, their openings glowing a faint golden light as some sort of harnessed, artificial demonic energy infused within them. A second set emerged through her gloves, lining up over her knuckles.  
  
    **[IP-SDSRU BEOWULF ASSAULT KIT READY FOR OPERATION. PLEASE USE DEADLY FORCE RESPONSIBLY.]**  
  
    _[No hitches on startup. Argent batteries have more than two months of charge time. You’re clear to begin operating. Stay on foot from here, a vehicle’s gonna be too loud at this point. Besides, you wouldn’t that bike getting sliced in half or something, right?]_

 

“She’s an antique. Sovereign out.”  
  
    _[Uh huh. Report back when you find anything worth mentioning.]_

 

“Roger that.”

 

As she shut her comm channel, Sovereign took a hop down the ledge she was standing on and slid down the rubble separating her and the city streets.  
  
    _Too gloomy out here._

 

A pack of demons were waiting for her as she descended, trailing pebbles and dust behind her.  
  
    _{ Brutal instinct:_ **_Riot_ **}

 _{ Barbed discord:_ **_Chaos_ ** _}_

 

One of the hulking reptiles lunged, claws forward and tongue wagging in the wind with a trail of venomous saliva.

 

“What a pain… out of my way!”

 

    The Riot’s assault was cut short by Sovereign’s fist burying into its face. Jets of searing white energy hissed from her knuckles, causing a controlled burst of infernal power at the point of impact. Her would-be assailant was launched backward by the blow, crashing into a pair of Chaos spinning like sawblades. They tore apart their fellow demon, slowing their approach enough for the agent to draw a long-barreled revolver as she landed and skidded to a stop. Four shots fired and hit their mark, right between the eyes, and the now-dead lizards’ momentum carried them past either side of Sovereign.  
  
    “Hmph.”

 

    She reloaded and holstered, staring daggers into the two remaining Riots, who hesitated before rushing at her in a gallop.  
  
    Child’s play.  
  
    Two heavy jabs. Backfist. Uppercut into the air. Haymaker as they come back down.

 

    Rinse and repeat. It was an old dance she had done a lot of times by now.  
  
    The lizards were smoking at her feet, expired. It was business as usual, it seemed, although it usually wasn’t out in the open like this. When dealing with the overlap between the mundane underworld and _literal_ underworld, you usually had to wait until you were neck deep in a cultist hideout or corporate blacksite before you saw demons in the flesh. Seeing them out in the streets like this was a level of crisis that hadn’t been reached in a fair number of years -- but even then, the disaster in progress at Red Grave City was worse than anything else they had ever seen.

 

    It’d be one hell of a time -- hah -- figuring out just what caused it, and beating it into the dirt. But, again, it was the same routine Sovereign was used to, just on a bigger scale. Find people who know something, get answers, find the big demon on campus, and put out its lights.

 

    That was a kicker, though. This place was absolutely deserted. Civilians were either gone or dead by now. The only people who could be left are either in on what’s going on, or Devil Hunters.

 

    She wondered who she would run into first.

 

 

* * *

 

    _Osaka, 1999. Some dive bar._

 

The job was done. Payment had come through. It was time to unwind.

 

    He didn’t speak Japanese and she didn’t speak English, but they managed to communicate in Spanish. He was sloppy, a few too many spiked strawberry sundaes in, but she acted like everything he had to say was either the peak of comedy or truly admirable insight. It was nice. Normally in places like this, Dante was content to be ignored or asked to leave, but this exception was welcome. This lady was a smooth talker -- he didn’t catch her name, something with a K -- and he was content to let her lead him wherever. He was drunk, frankly, and would have followed like a loyal puppy after the promise of a slice of leftover pizza, let alone some actual non-judgmental company.

 

    A few more drinks in, she was telling him that she could make him happy, make all his problems go away, and through the haze of inebriation he believed her. He was young and sad and she was mature and clever and knew just what to say.

 

    He woke up in the morning to an empty hotel room and a nasty hangover. She didn’t leave him anything except a bill for the room. There went the paycheck...

 

He couldn’t really remember much, just that things got… well, you can do the math.

 

    It wasn’t the first time he had done this dance, chasing away his anxiety with cheap flings with whatever pretty-eyed guy or girl actually talked to him. It hadn’t left him so… empty, though, until this night.

 

    Dante quit drinking after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not padding, you're padding. Yeah, this is shorter than I wanted, but I didn't wanna keep you guys waiting any longer, and figuring out a good intro for our incredibly obvious mystery woman here had me stumped for a while. 
> 
> I imagine the flashback at the end is a dreamed memory currently replaying for Dante, since that seems to be what he spends his coma getting up to.
> 
> More actual progression next week.


	9. You've Been Thunderstruck

    **“** **_HUNT! FEED! HUNT! FEED! HUNGRY!”_ **

 

The voice was obviously demonic in origin, far louder than any individual human could ever produce without a stack of megaphones, and distorted in a strange, watery tone. Crackles of thunder came from the distance, punctuating the repetitive calls for food.   
  
    “King’s Court, this is Sovereign. Large bogey located.”   
  
    _[Roger that, Sovereign, this is King’s Court. Yeah, I figured that by the power spikes. You’re coming up on a substation. Says here, uh… Holy Roller Electric Power Company. Jeez, talk about on the nose.]_

 

“Converging on target. Anything I should know about the area?”   
  
    _[Something’s been using it as a stomping ground for a few weeks now. It’s busted a bunch of water mains, the whole place is flooded. Probably still electrified, so don’t get splashed. Your kit can handle a pretty heavy dose of electricity, but an uprooted chunk of the whole power grid is more than a dose.]_

 

“Understood.”   
  
    Sovereign hopped a fence in an easy bound, kicking off the wall past it to stay above ground level while she got a better vantage point to try and locate the source of the shouting. It had been a few hours since her arrival, and she had been cutting a path through various packs of roaming demons, but hadn’t really found anything substantial yet… This was the closest she had to a lead thus far.   
  
    She wasn’t expecting someone _else_ to be on the rooftop she picked for an observation point, let alone someone with what seemed to be pet demons waiting with him. Sovereign wasn’t about to take chances, and the man had her back to him. She drew her revolver.   


    “Freeze! Identify yourself.”  
  
    _“Woah! Heads up, V. We’ve got company and she’s packin’ heat!”_   
  
    “I am a friend. Relax.”   
  
    The bird talks… sure, why not. So he did know she was here.   
  
    “V -- is that your name?”   
  
    “Approximately. Are you a Devil Hunter as well?”   
  
    Just a Hunter. Alright, that’s enough for her. Sovereign lowered her gun, giving it an idle twirl before sliding it back into her hip holster.   
  
    “More or less. Sovereign, Interpol Security Department, Shadow Response Unit.”   
  
    “Ooooohh, boy! A bonafide G-Woman, huh? Hey, you gotta help me lady, I need an ID, I’ve been dyin’ for a good drink, and the DMV doesn’t do photos for birds from Hell.”

 

    Sovereign actually cracked a small smile at the strange joke before V hushed Griffon with a finger to his beak.  
  
    “I’m not familiar with your organization. You are with the police?”   
  
    “International Police, but yes. Our department was declassified -- with all this going on, trying to hide demonic activity from the general public has been retired from the mission statement. Now we’re just trying to put a stop to this.”

 

    “Our goals are in alignment. I still have a number of days before my companion arrives -- after that, we will be making another attempt at the responsible party.”

 

    Wow. Well, that saves a lot of detective work.  
  
    “You know who caused this?”

 

    “I do. He is a devil of unprecedented strength, a resurrected king named Urizen. His throne rests within the Qliphoth.”  
  
    “Is that the name of the tree?”

 

    “It is, yes.”

 

    “Then we really are lined up in goals. Thank you for your cooperation, V.”

 

    “I aim to please, ma’am.”

 

  "Riiiiiight... anyway."

 

    Well, he might have been kind of creepy, but Devil Hunters are nearly always eccentric. Sovereign shrugged off the uneasy feeling he gave her and focused on the task at hand.  
  
    “What are you doing while you wait for your partner?”   
  
    “Housekeeping. I’m searching for any civilians I can escort to safety and putting down as many demons as I can.”   
  
    “I take it you’re also --”   
  
    **_“MEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!”_ **

 

 **** “WE HEARD YA THE FIRST TIME, JACKASS, SHUT IT!”

 

    All of them wince at the bellowing devil while Griffon yells in annoyance.  
  
    “...Yes, I am hunting the source of that cacophony.”   
  
    V held his head, and Sovereign shook hers, both of them hoping they could get through this without tinnitus.

 

    “R-right… Let’s not waste any time, then. I’ll take point.”

 

    “Lead the way.”

 

    The flooding in this area was pretty bad. The substation was kept separate from residential areas, fenced off inside its own tangled web of power supply boxes, power cable towers, and so on, all of which had been ripped and mangled into a floating obstacle course of small chunks of concrete and steel. They provided the only footholds over the pond, and each time the demon roared, surges of white lightning snaked and crackled through the grimy floodwater.

 

    They were definitely close, as each angry call call for food was now unbearably loud, and the water below occasionally rushed as rubble and steel creaked and folded out of the way of _something_ beneath them.

 

    They had found the central office, and it provided an island they could get their bearings on… and an arena, if need be. Whatever this was, fighting it in the water was suicide.  
  
    Sovereign clenched her fists in anticipation, spikes of golden light protruding from her knuckle emitters. V raised an eyebrow at the device, finding the energy surging through it vaguely familiar. These were questions for later, however, as the bubbling and crackling of electricity indicated that their quarry was emerging to meet them.

 

    **_“FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEED!”_ **

 

    What appeared to be a man mixed with a great white shark exploded from the water with a blinding crack of thunder, revealing an oversized but somewhat humanoid form. He was overmuscled, grey and scaly, and had two extra sets of finned arms, bringing him to a total of six. Electricity crackled within the multi-rowed set of teeth, another large fin running from the back of his neck down to a long, dragging shark tail trailing behind his legs.

 

    _{ Devouring displacer:_ **_Megalodon_ ** _}_

 

    “Here we go…”

 

    “Slice ‘em!”

 

    V gave a sweep of his hand as a portion of his tattoos flew off, the ashen ink forming a huge demonic panther that was already in mid-sprint. It pounced at the shark-man, over half of its body morphing into a pitch-black liquid that formed a massive claw, swinging it forward. It took four of Megalodon’s hands to stop it, leaving two free to throw out a barrage of electrified punches into the big cat.

 

    However, with all of its limbs occupied, it also gave Sovereign a chance to swing a heavy flying cross, leaping over the cat’s back in the process. It landed right in Megalodon’s face, knocking a few teeth loose and making the beast stumble back with a burst of light. Another strike followed it up, and a successful cut from Shadow’s tail as it ripped itself free, but they were blasted back by another thundering roar.

 

    **_“SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!”_ **

 

 **** Sovereign clamped her hands over her ears, but the sheer force of the scream still shook her to her core as she tumbled backward. V clutched at his ears, and Shadow was dispelled entirely by the force of volume, the ink returning to its master’s skin.   
  
    “Hmph… stubborn and vulgar.”

 

    “And tough. I’m not sure those hits did anything more than piss it off.”

 

    “We’ll need to apply more pressure, then.”  
  
    V released Shadow again, this time with Griffon flying alongside him. Sovereign joined the duo for a three-pronged offensive, both melee combatants being met with a series of parries and counterpunches to match all of Sovereign’s strikes and Shadow’s morphic slashes. Griffon sent out potshots of his own electric attacks, occasionally scoring tags that left black scorches on sharkskin hide when they managed to weave through the offensive. It was a contest of endurance -- for all his primal bluster, Megalodon’s movements were unmistakably that of a martial artist, trained and technical.   
  
    Another supercharged sucker punch sent Sovereign skidding backward, her cross-armed guard just barely absorbing the impact before she drew her revolver and fired the entire eight-shot cylinder in rapid succession. They hit their mark, a gap in Shadow’s body even briefly opening to allow a few rounds of would-be friendly fire through. It was enough of a painful distraction for Shadow to score a clean upward swipe, giving Griffon a chance for a heavy discharge of purple thunder before the cat morphed into a saw-like form above. Descending upon Megalodon, whirling like some kind of infernal buzzsaw, it tore into the beast, sending it reeling in pain.   
  
    “It’s your turn, Nightmare. Finish it!”

 

    _Snap._ V’s black hair shed a coating of ashes much like what composed his tattoos, revealing the white locks beneath.

 

    An enormous hunk of… _stuff…_ burst through the concrete roofing, slamming an uppercut into Megalodon as Nightmare dragged itself up through the torn-up office below. The enemy flew skyward, but righted itself and redirected its descent toward the water.   
  
    “...How many of those do you have?”

 

    “That’s all, I’m afraid.”

 

    “Right… stay alert.”  
  
    Griffon and Shadow reemerged, keeping watch in the directions V and Sovereign couldn’t. They stood at the ready in a rough circle, waiting for the creature to emerge as Nightmare filled the center of their formation.   
  
    Megalodon’s return wasn’t subtle, but it brought a surprise -- in three of his hands, he shouldered a steel telephone pole, swinging it as a makeshift bludgeon. Nightmare caught the brunt of the impact, but was quickly dispersing into black goop as lightning surged from his assailant and arced down the metal trunk. It only had a few seconds. Acting faster than any of the rest of V’s pack, Sovereign leapt onto the shaft and hoped her gear would be able to handle that much electricity.

 

    It did, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch as she sprinted up and buried a rapid fire flurry of blows. The punches faded into a blur of swinging white energy arcs, before finally...

 

    **[ENGAGING DEVIL TRIGGER SUBROUTINE.]**

 

A serrated arm-blade of hard-light, formed segment-by-segment from the emitters along her sleeve, transformed the final emphatic strike into an impaling stab straight through the creature’s torso. She dragged it upward as the monster roared in pain and fury, opening a sucking chest wound.

 

    With a human face in it.

 

    Not missing a beat, Sovereign focused on ripping and tearing with her tekko-blades as the creature writhed and squirmed. Its discharges of electricity gradually weakened, until she was finally able to yank the figure inside free. He was slick with strange fluid and naked as the day he was born, but as Sovereign descended to the rooftop, she managed to confirm he was still breathing and with a pulse.

 

    She landed with a thin trail of smoke still whisping off her, wincing as her kit administered intravenous painkillers. At least her suit didn’t get messed up.

 

    “Well done, ma’am.”

 

    “Y-yeah… phew. That wasn’t my smartest move.”  
  
    “I think ya did just fine, lady -- hey! It’s that rude guy from before! Remember, V?!”   
  
    “I do. It’s good to see him still breathing.”   
  
    _“Unnnngh…”_

 

“And grunting, apparently! Atta boy.”  
  
    As Griffon savored the victory, Sovereign laid the guy down softly and wiped some of the gunk off of his face -- and then immediately had to catch herself from falling backward when golden sparks of electricity arced along his body and he jolted upright.

 

“Gah!”

 

    Ryuji’s eyes shot wide open, and he stared down at his hands, coursing with lightning. He looked at them in confusion for a moment, before realizing exactly what had been returned to him, and grinned. Through labored breath, he chuckled.  
  
    “Hey, hey, that’s a neat trick, blondie. Y’got anything else in your top hat?”

 

    Ryuji shut his eyes, not bothering to answer Griffon.  
  
    “...Heh. Heh heh. Looks like I’m -- *ngh* -- back in business…”   
  
    Clenching his hands into fists, Ryuji’s shocking power flared and enveloped his whole being with crackling bolts and sparks. He turned to Sovereign, who was marked speechless by the revelation of just who she had saved. Of _all_ the people to run into…

 

    “Good to see ya, Makoto. Loving the outfit. Know where I could get a pair of shorts anywhere?”  
  
    “...No, but it’s good to see you too, Ryuji.”   
  
    Ryuji stood to his feet, too high on the rush of his returned power to bother covering up. He looked skyward at the corpse of his demonic host, still descending, and smirked as it transformed  halfway down with a defeated fizzle of electricity into an oblong weapon. He outstretched a hand, catching the thing -- it was somewhere between a kanabo and a baseball bat -- by the handle. The old mask, long since thought lost, rematerialized from a small burst of electricity that surged from the weapon into his hand and along his arm, sitting on his face quite comfortably.   
  
    _{ Smashing superconductor:_ **_Gashadokuro_ ** _}_

 

    “I believe I passed an intact clothing store on my route here.”  
  
    “Thanks, hairgel. Man, is it breezy out here, or what?”   
  
\---   
  
    “So you’re some kinda super-spy now?”   


Morgana’s tail swung lazily from the store counter he laid on.

  
    “Sort of. As of all this, it’s not really a secret anymore... Skull, did you join a biker gang since the last time I saw you?”   
  
    Ryuji had a fair number of American-style tattoos now, most notably a Jolly Roger over a pair of crossed lead pipes on his back, a lightning bolt jabbing through the eye socket not covered by a swashbuckler’s trademark patch.   
  
    “Nahhh. I just got into fighting. Like, in a ring, with rules, you know?”   
  
    “Boxing?”   
  
    “Nah, mixed martial arts.”   
  
    “Muay thai?”   
  
    “Yeah! That and judo. How’d you know?”   
  
    “You hit me with some of it.”   
  
    “Oh. Uh, sorry.”   
  
    “To be fair, ma’am, you also knocked him around a fair bit.”   
  
    “Ha! I would have liked to see that.”   
  
    “Zip it, Mona!”   
  
    Rummaging through what wasn’t ruined by the now-receding floodwater, Ryuji threw himself together a punkish outfit, complete with a little red necktie. Makoto inwardly thanked whatever powers that be that she didn’t have to see his junk anymore, unknowingly sharing the sentiment with Griffon. V seemed indifferent.   
  
    “So, what’s next on the agenda? How long was I even in there? Felt like I was in a coma until you got that haymaker on me.”   
  
    “It has been about three and a half weeks.”   
  
    “...Wow. Okay, that’s pretty bad. Glad I got this new boost, then… we really got our asses kicked last time. Speakin’ of which, where’s Joker?”

 

    Oh, dear.

 

    “Wait, he’s here too?!”  
  
    “Yeah, we came together,” Morgana mentioned, looking somewhat guilty before perking up. “And since you’re still alive, Skull, that means he might be too.”

 

   “Yeah… that’s right. We gotta find him, and that other guy, too.”

 

    “Dante?”

 

    Makoto actually recognized that name.

  
  
    “The legendary Devil Hunter…? Hm. I never thought I’d get to meet him.”

 

    “Wait, is that guy famous?”

 

    “Skull, there’s a whole world of demon slayers out there you don’t know about, and that name… that’s the name of the man sitting at the top of the heap.”

 

    “Huh. No wonder he kicked Joker’s ass.”

 

    “He _WHAT?!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MOTIVATION! I managed to turn the dissatisfaction of yesterday's short chapter into drive to finish another one quickly. Enjoy the extra dose.


	10. Put Your Raygun To My Head

     Each alone was a force to be reckoned with, but together, they were a scythe against the field of demons, reaping the infernal like so much wheat. Every now and then, a stray civilian would cross their path, and they would lead them to a safe route out of the ruined city. Everything was going well, but they weren’t coming up with many meaningful leads. They eventually decided to part ways, to cover more potential ground and seek out more sources of information and epicenters of demonic power. Makoto was after ways to strike at the Demon King, whether through information or usable hardware. V was seeking more opportunities to help the remaining civilians and strike down as many demons as he could manage. Ryuji and Morgana, of course, were searching for Akira, clinging to the hope that he still lived.

      A handful of days went by, with the one month mark since their previous dispersal quickly approaching. Nero would return soon, with whatever source of strength V had made him swear to acquire. He had been inconsolable over his perceived role in the ‘deaths’ of Skull and Joker -- and utterly rancorous toward V, for a time, which was likely why he had no objections to leaving him behind in Red Grave’s perilous streets. The news of their continued living would likely provide some relief. He would need a cool head for what lied down his path.

      Being away from the blond one was a welcome relief, too. Griffon was already too chatty, but the both of them seemed to argue and bicker in _perpetuity_ so long as they occupied the same space. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t a factor in his idea to split up.

* * *

 

      Ryuji stared out the window, bored. At least it was nice and breezy in here, with the library's roof ripped off.

     "Remind me how this is going to help us find Joker?"

     Morgana sniffed along, wincing at the scent he was on the trail of. Smelled like smoke and rot.

      "Ugh… whatever I'm picking up on, it's got the same scent as that slop we had to hose off of your butt. Plus I'm sensing a pretty big pile of demon power… More than the small fry we've been dealing with."

     Morgana couldn't do much to actually contribute physically to a fight, but he was able to zero in on weak spots and sneak attacks and keep Ryuji well-informed of any incoming surprises.

     "Riiiiight… hey, wait a second. Does this place still have power?"

     "Huh?"

     "There's gotta be a computer somewhere in here. We should call up Oracle… lost my earpiece back in the stupid tree."

     "Oh. That's a good idea, actually…"

     "What, I'm not allowed to have those?"

     "Heh. Give it a shot and cross your fingers, I guess…"

     Ryuji took off and searched for a computer, and was momentarily given hope by a boot-up sequence before it told him it couldn't connect to the Internet. 

 _So much for that_ , or so he thought. He walked through a long hallway, into a large antechamber, hoping he could find a spare router or something.

     Suffice to say, the floating demon that hissed with an unsettlingly human face as he entered wasn't what he expected to see. Morgana ran for a safe place to hide and watch, his days of direct combat engagement long behind him.

 _{ Illuminating corruption:_ **_Artemis_ ** _}_

     "Oh, shit. Hey, lady, do you know anything about wi-fi?"

     Ryuji was given a loud screech in response and several blasts of luminescent plasma. He dodged with a quick backward hop, littered books and broken shelving bursting into scorched papers and splinters.

     "Jeez! I was just askin'. I get that libraries are a public institution and all, but that's some pretty crap customer service. You're shamin' the taxpayers, you know!"

     When he received another shriek and barrage of light in response, Ryuji smirked on their approach and suddenly _dematerialized_ into golden electricity. A bolt of lightning surged from where he had just stood, striking upwards into the body of Artemis with a powerful jolt. 

     "Shock and awe, sucker!"

     He reappeared on impact, following up the tele-zap with a supercharged flying knee and an overhead smash from his new warclub. Unprepared for such a rapid assault, the demon took several of the blows and reeled before forcing itself backwards with a flap of its silver wings. It screamed once again, letting loose a shower of infernal lasers, which Ryuji weaved and bobbed between with more electric mobility. He was taking to his new powers like a duck to water, assisted by his Devil Arm's imparted knowledge of using his implanted magical power.

     "C'mon, is that all -- GAH!"

     He was caught from behind, having missed one of Artemis' wing-eyes dislodging itself and firing from his blind spot. It left a scorching burn on his back, and he grimaced as he landed.

      "Ngh -- hey, that stings, you big flying shitbird!"

      He looked up and realized that in the time he took to regain his footing, several more eyes had emerged and were now firing from all kinds of angles. He barely managed to zap his way out of the firing line, now on the defensive as he took out the little bastards one by one while trying not to get roasted. It was tough, but he managed, though he lamented not having his shotgun handy. It'd make this a lot easier if he had some range -- he could arc current out from his fingertips, and through objects, but his lightning lacked any projectile capability, and fizzled out if it got too far from his body.

     "Quit effin' with me, dammit!"

     Swing and a hit. With a home-run smash, Artemis' own eye smacked into her face, detonating with a backfire of plasma.

     "Aha!"

     Seeing it worked, he followed it up with more teleporting and swings, peppering his foe with explosions of its own power. It couldn't keep up, unable to decide whether to fire at Ryuji or its own servants. 

     "Aaaaaand -- OUTTA THE PARK!"

     One last heavy smash of Gashadokuro nearly split Artemis' head in two, and the unnatural weight of the bat spread cracks through the demon’s body, before it shattered entirely with a burst of destabilized power.

     Someone fell from within the cloud of still-sparking smoke below Ryuji, who managed to think quickly and zap himself down to the floor. He caught the stranger before sputtering when he realized a fully nude woman was in his arms.

     "B-buh! Oh, jeez… uhhh… s-sorry, lady, didn't mean to -- Er, uh, I mean -- I didn’t -- "

     The woman groaned weakly before peeling her eyes open in a groggy daze.

     "H-how'd you… know my name…?"

     "Huh?"

* * *

 

     “Well, well, how unusual. I haven’t had a surprise visitor in ages.”  
  
    _“Ngh…_ what…?”

  
    “I wasn’t expecting you, but it is good to see you doing so well. Relatively speaking, of course.”   


     The voice was familiar, but distant. Half-remembered from a brief encounter some time ago.  
  
    Still as _blue_ as Akira remembered, too. The walls, the floor, the decor, the lights, even -- all oppressively azure. He squinted blearily, adjusting to the light.   
  
    “Oh… Igor.”   
  
    “It is I, and no impostor this time. Welcome back to the Velvet Room, my friend.”   
  
    No longer a stereotypical prison, the Velvet Room had taken a strange form, unlike anything resembling human architecture. A waterfall ran down into a dirty stream, rushing around his ankles. Akira had awoken in a seated position, back against a wall composed of what felt like bone. The sky around the small platform was an open abyss of blackness, interrupted only by a pulsating blue umbra of light surging from behind some kind of spherical void.

    He wasn’t sure why, but the place filled him with a naggingly vague sense of loss.

    “How did I get here?”

    “I cannot say, I’m afraid. Without my direction, no one may enter here of anyone’s volition save their own. I can understand why you would come here, however. Given your current circumstances, one would hardly blame you for seeking some direction.”

    “Oh. Yeah, that’s… that would be nice right now.”

    “However, I am not currently prepared for visitors. You’ll have to excuse my lack of assistance, but you are currently operating outside my sphere of influence. My business is tied primarily to the mortal realm -- and from what we have both recently witnessed, yours goes to much more exotic places.”

    “You’re still watching me, huh?”  
  
    “I tend to keep track of the affairs of prior clients. It is an old habit, you see...”

    Akira wondered just how much surveillance that implied, before deciding that Igor was -- even if weird and cryptic -- not the type to do anything uncouth with that information.

    “Where’s Lavenza…?”

    “She is off on her own excursions. I am currently operating without an attendant, as I tend to do when not managing any specific cases.”

    “Oh.”  
  
    There’s a brief, awkward silence, before Igor adjusts his posture a bit and sighs with a hint of exasperation. He clearly isn’t used to speaking without a carefully prepared subject of conversation.   
  
    “While I can’t specifically tell what they are, I can tell you have questions you don’t want to receive answers to. I suggest you shed your hesitation -- the truth may not grant peace of mind, but they will still allow you to face your future with a greater understanding.”   
  
    “...I’m not sure what you mean.”

    “There is more to your strength than you know, as your dear companion -- your manifested self -- has shown you. No longer are you split in two by your illusions.”

    “My -- ah. Arsene.”

    “Of course. I have no contract to make with you now, but I do have advice. We can call it a professional courtesy.”

  
    Akira smirked in intrigued amusement.   


    “That’s awfully straightforward of you...”  
  
    “These are unusual circumstances. The event you are currently in the midst of is far-reaching enough that even this place is at risk. I do not have the luxury of witholding information for more appropriate timing, sadly.”

    “Out with it, then.”  
  
    “Yes, yes -- you should know, your powers are all your own. In all my scheming, I did not know what dwelled within your heritage.”

    “What?”  
  
    “That’s all I can say. The rest is on you, my friend.”   
  
    Akira frowned, wondering if this was really the most direct Igor could be, but decided pressing the issue wouldn’t get him anywhere.   
  
    “Fine. Then… am I going to wake up any time soon?”

    “It doesn’t look like it, I’m afraid. That was quite the impact you made.”  
  
    “Well… shit.”   
  
    “Indeed.”   
  
    Akira sighed and shut his eyes, and the Velvet Room faded away as he returned to the thoughtless oblivion of unconsciousness.   
  
   

* * *

  
  
    “I told you they were alive.”   
  
    “...I’m sorry I doubted you.”   
  
    Haru dipped her head apologetically as Futaba smugly grinned, leaning back in her office chair. The two were about as opposite their usual selves as they could be -- Futaba was beaming with audacious validation, while Haru was a wreck. She hadn’t slept decently in weeks, having assumed the worst, though she still came to the Oracle ‘command center’ day after day.   
  
    Futaba had seen something red streak across the sky the night that Joker and Skull went dark, and was instantly confident they were fine. That hadn’t stopped her from constantly monitoring the camera network, but blind spots were getting worse day by day as more sections of the city lost power. She had only gotten lucky today, spotting the flashes in the distance by a handful of purple pixels and jumping across the network to find the source. Sure enough, there was Ryuji, who had apparently received some kind of power-up to boot. Morgana wasn’t trailing far behind, and always found somewhere safe to tuck away while Skull handled demon cleanup.

Joker had yet to be found, but judging by Ryuji’s high spirits, he had to be up and about somewhere.

“Skull’s way to dumb to know when he’s supposed to die -- and Joker’s not much better, he’s just good at hiding his dumbassery. Now that we’ve got eyes on one, the other can’t be far behind -- wish I could talk to ‘em, though. How much did those earpieces cost?”  
  
    “Um… they weren’t cheap, but it’s not like I can’t affo--”

“See?! Dumbasses. So friggin’ inconsiderate, not even trying to contact us all this time! You’d think they got stuck under a rock for a month.”  
  
    Haru frowned before shaking her head and sighing, though she managed a tired smile.   
  
    “It’s such a relief… ugh… I think I can finally --”   
  
    She interrupted herself with a yawn, the release of tension finally beating back her ongoing insomnia. There was a mumbled apology of some kind before she stumbled into a nearby office chair and promptly blacked out, all of which Futaba barely seemed to notice or acknowledge as she clacked away at her keyboard and watched Ryuji’s movements like a hawk. 

Wait, what was he getting a blanket for?

“Who the heck is this naked broad?! Ryuji, you damn dog, you were there to back up Joker, not pick up chicks!”

Haru snored away as Futaba continued to rant fruitlessly at Ryuji, though she lowered in intensity somewhat when she realized he seemed pretty worried about the woman. At the very least, he was listening to her mumblings very intently, and exchanging words with uncharacteristic gingerness -- damn traffic cameras didn’t have microphones, though, and no way could she pull off any lip-reading with the shoddy resolution.

“...She is pretty, though. Kinda old for ya, though, Skull. I guess some things never change…”

  
    Futaba remembered the Becky debacle with some degree of fondness, happily imagining the embarassed look on Ryuji and Joker’s faces when she found out about it. Ah, nostalgia.

* * *

 

    Morgana was taking a much-needed power nap as Ryuji was debriefed by their new associate.

    “ -- The barricade. Gotta get to the outskirts.”  
  
    “What? Why? There’s nothing happening out there.”   
  
    “No gear. Jarheads’ll have plenty to make use of.”   
  
    “Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess -- is it really gonna be that useful, though? My shotty barely scratches those things.”   
  
    Lady tugged at the collar of her newly-appropriated worksuit. It was more fit for an electrician than a Devil Hunter, but it was all they could scavenge for now. This kid was apparently totally human, but he was swinging around a Devil Arm like nothing, and zipping around with demonic power on top of that -- pretty impressive, honestly, but there were bigger things to worry about now. The Demon King’s ass had been planted on that throne for weeks, absorbing who knows how many innocent people to sustain and strengthen himself.   
  
    Because they _failed._

    Lady scowled, chiding herself internally for being so overconfident and distracted by Dante’s askew attitude. She shook her head before getting too deep into it -- regrets wouldn’t fix her mistake, actions would.

    “How bad is the outbreak by now?”  
  
    “I dunno, but from what I hear the army guys are barely managing to keep it all contained -- keyword, _barely_ . I didn’t get taken off ice much earlier than you -- that poetry guy and an old friend of mine popped me outta some weird demon shark thing. It even knew some of my moves, apparently -- hey, wait a second.”   
  
    “Huh?”   
  
    “Do you shoot lasers?”   
  
    Lady gave him a flabbergasted look before figuring she must been a battery for something really weird.

    “No. Bullets, mostly. Rockets and grenades too.”  
  
    “Ohhhh. Manual. I dig it, I dig it -- wish I was enough of a hardass to get along without fancy powers, but I’m definitely glad I got ‘em back.”   
  
    “You lost it before?”   
  
    “Yeah -- _really_ long story. I’ll save it for if we ever go on a car trip or something.”   
  
    “I don’t even know your name, kid.”   
  
    “Just call me Skull for now.”   
  
    Lady pondered the fake name before realizing how her own probably struck her new companion in the same fashion.

    “Fair enough. Where are we going now?”  
  
    “Gonna rendezvous with V, I think. He said to send a signal near the mall if we found anything worth meeting up for.”

    “V…?”

    “What, seriously? Tall guy, black hair, demon minions, total dork?”

    “Oh… Dante’s client. I didn’t catch his name, we only met for a few minutes.”

    “Ahhhh… man, we really went up shit creek back there.”

    “No kidding. Once we meet with Dante’s guy, one of you can take me out to the border -- how is Dante, anyway? That idiot should have had this mess cleaned up by now.”

    “Oh… we, uh… we don’t know. Chair-bastard seemed to have a real grudge against him for whatever reason, so… well… V doesn’t think he would shove him in a demon like he did with us.”

    “...Mm.”

    Hearing that made Lady’s blood run cold, even if she kept her poker face up. Dante didn’t _lose,_ at least not meaningfully. He was always fixing the disaster just late enough to make a wisecrack about it.

    Then again, nothing about this ongoing crisis had been normal, even by the standards of Devil May Cry’s explosive misadventures in the hunting business.  
  
    “S-sorry. You probably didn’t wanna hear that.”   
  
    “It’s better than lying to me, kid. Let’s just… let’s get moving.”

    “Right.”

      The rest of the trek was uncomfortably silent, even with the occasional pack of demons to cut through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I ain't dead! I suffered a pretty rough case of writer's block, not helped by my job piling overtime on me week after week. Things are mellowing out now, so I should be back to something resembling regular uploads. This chapter was a pain in the dick to figure out, too -- this transitional space is thankfully ending soon, and we can get up to the real meat of DMC5.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience. orz


	11. Them Wild-Eyed Boys That Had Been Away

The road into the city was eerily unchanged from when Nero had made his way out. There was an uncomfortable stagnant feeling as what should have been a bustling, traffic-choked freeway typical of any city’s outskirts was instead flanked by the exact same wrecked cars and ashen corpses as when he left. The roots poking through the ground looked a little hardier, but otherwise, it was all untouched.

 

“You think another pack of Hunters might have showed up? It’s not like you’re the only guy in the business, there’s other people who could show a couple bootboys a thing or two about fightin’ off demons.”

 

From what they had been making out over shortwave transmissions intercepted by the van’s police scanner, the military had actually managed to strengthen their lockdown recently. From what they had been hearing beforehand, the quarantine was barely holding together, and it didn’t seem like moving in reinforcements was an option, so they could only speculate on what had changed.

 

“Don’t really give a damn, as long as they stay out of my way. I’m after Urizen, not the small fry.”

 

“Yeah, yeah, only the zillionth time y’told me...”

 

Nico frowned in worry, betraying her attempt at sounding aloof. Nero’s usual attitude might be a pain in her ass, but it didn’t make it any less uncomfortable seeing him so single-minded in comparison to his usual self.

 

“Don’t forget, we’re not beelinin’ right away. Still gotta meet up with Charles Borekowski and --”

 

“Who the hell are you talking about?”   
  
“Like Bukowski -- have you ever picked up a damn book?! I’m talkin’ bout V.”   
  
“Oh. That a poetry guy?”   
  
“ _ Poet _ , and yeah.”

 

“Wouldn’t have picked you for a literature enthusiast, Nico. At least not anything that didn’t talk about carburetors or something.”

 

“The hell is that s’posed to mean?! You got hobbies besides your main gig, don’tcha?”   
  


“Not really, between work and the kids I don’t have much time.”

 

“Well, take up knittin’ or somethin’, ‘fore you drive yourself nuts. And me, fer that matter.”

 

“Do I look like a granny to you?”

 

“You tell me, yer th’ one with white hair in a dang pixie cut. Sometimes I wonder if yer gonna ask t’ talk to my manager.”

 

Nero rolled his eyes and snorted in restrained amusement, not wanting to show that he actually thought that was pretty funny.

 

“Whatever…”

 

It was an uneventful ride through the rest of the macabre diorama that decorated the rolling highway. They were stopped, however, at a checkpoint not too far from a collapsed bridge, flagged down by a handful of military personnel. Looked like a mix of Marines and Army.

 

Nico puffed a cloud of smoke as she rolled her window down, and the soldier at the window crinkled his nose and coughed a few times before speaking.   
  
“Ugh -- no civilians beyond this point. Turn back, whatever you’re trying to get isn’t worth dying for.”

 

Nico gave him a dull stare of unamusement before scratching her head.

 

“Look, soldier boy, we’re professionals with this shit -- well, he is, anyway.”   
  
She pointed her thumb behind her, and Nero waved awkwardly from the passenger seat.   
  
“Professionals? Look, I dunno what kinda weekend warrior show you and Lefty over there think you’re running but I can’t let you --”

 

_ “CONTACT!” _

 

The soldier’s schpiel was cut off by a blast of concrete and rubble. A towering demon had burst from the ground, burrowing outward and letting out a deafening, gurgly screech.

 

_ { Vermin empress:  _ **_Empusa Queen_ ** _ } _

The creature slashed out massive, scythe-like forelimbs, cutting gashes into barriers of steel and concrete. Blood sloshed from its carapace, swirling within, a great volume of stolen human life. 

 

“Alright, time to test out --”

Nero only had enough time to get out of his seat and slam the door behind him before he saw multiple harpoon-ended cables of thick, braided steel fire from hidden emplacements and trap the monster in place. It roared in pain and frustration, and a gathering of soldiers formed an organized firing line before filling the giant bug with a hailstorm of lead. It shrieked, immobilized and unable to defend itself, before eventually succumbing and falling. It was already dead as the wires tore chunks of chitin and gore out and rewound back into their launchers.

 

“...Huh. You guys got some lessons, huh?”

 

The soldier who had stopped them had already forgotten about the van he had stopped, having given fire support from his position.

 

“Uh.. yeah. How’d you know?”

 

“Stand down, crewcut, he’s with me.”

 

The soldier stiffened before turning around and saluting… Lady? Nero gave her a confused stare, while Nico had…  _ other  _ feelings showing in her gaze.

 

“Hey, kid.”

“Uh… hey, Lady. Glad you’re okay.”

 

It was pretty weird seeing her in  _ actual  _ Army fatigues, rather than her usual military-biker chic. She seemed amused, though. 

 

“I’ve been through worse. You find that secret weapon V said you needed?”

 

“...Yeah.”

 

“Her handiwork, I’m guessing?”

 

Nico lit up like a Christmas tree with excitement before nodding happily.

 

“Yeah! Lemme show you, it’s --”

 

“Later. I know it’ll be a boost, I remember how good you fixed up my sweet ol’ girl.”

 

“Heh… wait, where is she? I never see ya without Kalina.”

 

“Yeah, about that -- can I put an order on my tab? I… well, I lost her, and I need a replacement.”

 

Lady clearly didn’t feel great about losing her ‘old reliable’, but Nico was delighted.

 

“You got it! I got plenty’a raw material in the van, I can fix up a successor in two shakes!”

 

Nero poked his head back through the passenger side window.

 

“What?! Hey, what happened to cash up front?!”

 

“That’s my dumbass-only payment plan! Now git, I’ll meet up with you later.”

 

“Ridiculous…”

 

Nero shoved aside a few gawking army-men, but his irritation quickly gave way to a smirk as he raised the remainder of his left arm and jammed on Nico’s latest creation. With a flash of activating systems and charged batteries, a cybernetic limb came to life, and Nero flexed his new fingers a few times before firing off a red-hot glowing wire from his surgically-integrated elbow rig and crossing over the bridge’s collapsed gap into Red Grave’s city limits. 

 

There was a gaggle of demon ants waiting for him on the other side, and the gun emplacements overhead keeping them in check stopped firing to give him some room to work. Nero revved Red Queen and clenched a metal fist, cutting into the noisy crowd with a roaring engine and whirring servos.

 

_ This may be fun… _

 

* * *

 

 

“Why’re we here again, anyway? Whatever that presence ya picked up on was, it’s  _ waaaay  _ too much for us to handle. You just gonna walk up and say hi? Cause count me outta that shit!”

 

V didn’t bother replying to Griffon, clambering over dusty rubble and taking a moment to catch his breath as Shadow dealt with a pack of Caina ahead.

 

“Seriously. Shouldn’t we be lookin’ for Sparda? You said it yourself, it’s our last --”

 

“We’re getting close.”

 

“Ughhh… would it kill ya to give a straight answer once in your life?!”

 

The demon vulture rolled his multi-pupiled eyes as he flapped onto V’s shoulder, hacking up a few shots of ball lightning before resuming his deluge of gripes.

“I mean, seriously -- just ‘cause it  _ smells  _ like Dante don’t mean it’ll be friendly, y’know. Have a little self-preservation, fer chrissakes.”

 

“It’s a chance I’m willing to take. Don’t fall behind.”

 

V slid down the pile of broken storefronts and chunks of ripped-up street, hiking himself upward to cross a small gap over a river of blood. The scent of rust and death was pungent here, and it would have made V sick if he had time to dwell on it. The mashed-up remnants of Red Grave’s old town gradually gave way to a derelict private estate, equally crawling with the infernal.

 

_ Can I see another's woe, and not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, and not seek for kind relief? _

 

__ The location was becoming uncomfortably familiar. He was headed for where it all began -- and for what? Why had he let himself be so sidetracked? He needed to meet Nero within a few hours, and he didn’t even know what he was going after, only that it felt familiar in the same way Nero did. It couldn’t be Dante -- so why did it  _ feel  _ like him?

 

Nightmare picked the summoner off the ground, winding up and hurling him into the distance as his familiars continued to do battle. He was low on time and didn’t have the patience to navigate the catacombs, which were doubtlessly ravaged by the Qliphoth’s continued root growth. His old memory of the layout would likely be more hindrance than help if he were to try.

 

V landed cane-first outside the top of a stone staircase, already hearing his companions tearing their way through to catch up with him. By the echoes’ travel time, they would be a few more minutes -- but Nightmare’s aim was true, and he could feel he was only a few dozen feet from the demonic power he had sensed.

 

_ Awfully quiet for something putting out so much power. _

 

__ He took a few steps forward, and choked back a few curses as he recognized where he was. It was a miracle anything was left here -- it had been thrice assaulted, once by Mundus and twice now by his own regrettable misdeeds. Passing by burned bookshelves and sullied portraits, V struggled to avoid dwelling on his long-gone early days.

 

_ Here. _

 

A small crater had been smashed through what was once the dining room, the impact scattering old tarnished silverware, shattered bone china, and splintered wood in various states of rot. The source of the destruction was half-buried in ruined furniture and upturned stonework, and a pillar of cedar was embedded in their chest.

 

“...I see. So I was right about you after all. Nero will be relieved.”

 

The thief, in spite of everything, was alive. He had healed incompletely, on account of the impalement, but given the large off-red splatters surrounding where he lay, there was a lot more than that lone wound that had been repaired after impact.

 

“How --  _ ngh --  _ curious!”

 

Yanking the lumber free proved to be a bit too much for V -- it was really stuck in there, and he didn’t want to risk scraping something vital or dislodging something that couldn’t be healed with a slow drag. He sighed and sat on what was once a cabinet, huffing just from that small effort, and cursing his weakness.

 

A handful of seconds passed before he was rewarded for his attempt anyway.

 

_ “Hhhnnnhgh…  _ this… really hurts.”

 

__ V blinked.

 

“I -- I am sorry, there wasn’t much I could do.”

 

“It’s f-fine --  _ ow --  _ I’ve got --  _ ow  _ \-- it.”

 

The thief reached his hands over the lodged wood and grit his teeth before ripping it free with a pained grunt. He dropped it to his side, dripping with his blood, and watched the wound it had left stitch itself back together in a handful of seconds.

 

“There… that’s enough beauty sleep.”

 

“Hmm. Indeed. Can you stand, Joker?”

 

V cracked a smile at the boy, finding his impetuous wisecracks comforting. This was another regret safely taken out of his guilty conscience -- he had many to go, but still, it was a small relief, and those were few and far between.

 

“Give me a second.”

 

Akira raised his hand and clenched it shut, opening it again and manifesting Arsene in his grip. The blade had changed from his devilish awakening -- the metal had taken on a swirling pattern of masterful forgework, and where once there had been a small hole cut out of the blade, an ornamental skull of black iron now lay. He could feel its power --  _ his  _ power -- had grown considerably. Satisfied, he sat up, pushing aside chunks of stone and wood that should have been unbearably heavy, now somehow trifling.

“I see my hunch was correct. A devil has awakened inside you as well.”

 

“Seems that way.”

 

Underneath all the dread, V felt a pang of nostalgia, interrupted by the distinctive crackle-flap of electrified feathers and the inky sound of his tattoos returning to his skin.

 

“‘Ey, jackass! What part of we can’t finish ‘em off don’t you -- oh, shit. You’re alive, four-eyes?”

 

Akira gave Griffon an amused smirk and waved.

 

“Well, goody-goody! We’ve got the whole band back together minus Dante and his babysitter, then.”

 

“Mm. Trish is next, that’s right. Given the pattern thus far it’s a safe bet to assume she’s alive.”

 

As V turned back from Griffon to address Joker again, he was greeted with an empty room.

 

“Wh -- hey, hey, where’d he go, V?!”

 

V blinked before shaking his head with a chuckle.

“He’s getting back to work. We should follow suit.”

 

“...Not even a thank you. What a brat!”

 

Griffon huffed a few more complaints before fading into ink and ash as well. V made note of the time on his way out -- he would be late. Still, better to ask forgiveness than permission -- this was a worthy diversion.

 

All that was left to do now was regroup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The boy is back, and I'm continuing to throw the narrative in a blender. I love you, Morihashi, but Lady should get to do stuff. And doing stuff she is! 
> 
> Also, yes, the guy who stopped the van is the same Crewcut from the original cutscene. Now with 100% less pants wetting!
> 
> Also, here's some shameless advertising, but go read my Zelda fic. That's joining this as my current ongoing writing projects.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always.


	12. Pure Wrath Of The Winged Assassin

    “What a mess…”

 

    Nero gave one last look behind him at the van -- Nico was already perusing a paper map of the city streets, charting a new course with sharpie, and safely ignoring him. With a sigh, the Devil Hunter turned back to face the abandoned alley, the bright lights of storefronts and streetlamps accentuating the eerie silence of what should have been a bustling commercial district. It was disturbing both in how  _ off  _ it felt, and how it was vaguely familiar -- Fortuna had fallen under a similar deathly quiet during the Order’s collapse.

 

    It was only a few years ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Back then, he wasn’t any older than those two…

 

    Nero shook his head, shaking off the memory for now. He had already wasted a lot of time on angry regret -- it didn’t make him stronger then, and it wasn’t going to help now. He could chastise himself  _ after  _ Urizen had his ass thoroughly kicked.

 

_     Need to catch up to V, fast. _

 

    One foot in front of the other.

 

    The Qliphoth roots that previously had been little more than a wriggling underfoot curiosity had graduated to overgrown,  _ hostile  _ annoyances. Not quite a  _ threat,  _ but still, it had nasty implications that Nero tried not to dwell on. The demons were little more than rabble, and between his sharp-as-ever swordsmanship and Overture’s powerful electric blasts, they didn’t test much of Nero besides his patience.

 

    Still, he had to admit, the new arm was pretty sweet.

 

    His ears caught the distinctive chatter of a Joe Pesci-soundalike exchanging insults and lightning with screeching demons in the distance, and he knew that he was close to that summoner again.

 

_     Huh… this isn’t where we’re supposed to meet. Guess he’s running late. _

 

    He caught a glimpse of V and company between ruined buildings, in the ruins of a collapsed hotel, but the path was too narrow and crumbled to get through without a lengthy, time-wasting climb. Doubling back, Nero cut through the shopping district again, this time heading from the outdoor storefronts to an indoor mall.

 

    Curiously, there were some dead demons here already, and it didn’t look like V’s handiwork. Not unless he had picked up a gun, anyway -- that didn’t seem like his style, and these Caina and Antenorra corpses had slash wounds and bullet holes aplenty. Deciding to err on the side of caution, Nero kept his hand over Blue Rose’s grip. 

 

    The hesitation paid off when a few bullets slammed into the tiled wall at his side, letting him duck behind a corner before he could get tagged by the shards of broken ceramic and shrapnel.

 

_     “HEY!  _ Watch where you’re shooting, asshole, I’m not a damn demon!”

 

    Nero loaded a few of Nico’s custom bunker-busters into his revolver, in case the shooter wasn’t keen to listen, but they did answer after a handful of seconds.

 

    “ ¡ Perdón! Heat of the moment, heh.”

 

    Wait, that voice was vaguely familiar… one of those kids! The one with the knife, right?

 

    Nero spun back around the wall, his brow furrowed in a mix of annoyance and confusion. Joker awaited him with a half-smile and a smoking heavy handgun over his shoulder.

 

    “Yeah, well, maybe look before you try and perforate me next time -- what the  _ hell  _ are you wearing?”

 

    Joker’s rebel garb had been restored, and even given a major facelift, reflecting his true fusion with Arsene to become his whole self. The all-black coat now had panels of red in its leather and stitching, and a tattered black scarf wrapped around his neck and flowed behind his high collar. His mask had returned as well, but now had an ebon black tone rather than its original stark white, with the old detailing now a bright scarlet. 

 

    The mask only served to highlight the somewhat crazed look in Joker’s eyes. Something sinister shined in their pale grey irises, hinting at an instability that had been absent a month ago.

 

    “You like it? It’s custom. Sort of.”

 

    “You look like seven shades of Victorian ass, if you ask me.”

 

    “Pssh, philistine. Now then...”

 

    To Nero’s surprise, Joker pointed his gun at him, leveling the sights dead between the Devil Hunter’s eyes. Nero quickly snapped the Blue Rose up to meet it, cocking an eyebrow in confused irritation.

 

    “The hell do you think you’re doing, kid?”

 

    “It’s  _ Joker.  _ Where’s your friend? The man in the red coat? Dante, right?”

 

    Nero scowled. It just  _ always  _ has to be about  _ him _ , doesn’t it?

 

    “How the hell should I know? I don’t even know if that dumbass is still breathing. What the hell is it to you?”

 

    “Oh, he’s alive. I can feel it -- after we had our _exchange_ , I’ve been able to _feel_ his presence. He’s somewhere in this city, and I’ve got some questions.”  
  
    

    Joker smirked with audacious confidence, to Nero’s further annoyance.

 

    “And I want that sword of his.”

 

    “Rebellion? Hate to break it to you, but that old chunk of scrap got smashed to pieces by the jackass in the chair. I think the only piece you’re gonna find is stuck in Dante’s face.”

 

    Nero grimaced with apprehension. Dante was still alive… he had a lot to be pissed at him about, but still, he felt a small weight come off his shoulders with the news. Joker didn’t seem deterred, however.

 

    “Well, I’ll have to yank it out, then.”

 

    “What the hell’s wrong with you? I thought you were here to kill the King, same as us.”

 

    “I was, yeah. I’ll get to it. But I’m no hunter like you.”   


  
    Joker clicked his magnum’s safety back off. Nero cocked back the hammer on his gun in turn.

 

    “I’m just a thief.”

 

    Nero grit his teeth, Overture crackling to life as he readied himself for a fight.

 

    “Well, thief boy, I might want to take a boot to Dante’s ass myself right now, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to let you mangle him for some busted hardware. You want him, you go through me.”

    Joker just grinned in response to Nero’s serious tone.

 

    “Then it’s showtime!”

 

    They both dashed in parallel to one another, firing and only barely missing as they moved in a tightening circle before Nero swung his sword. Intercepting the Red Queen’s slash with Arsene’s demon-steel, Joker braced his backhand grip with his free hand’s wrist, and they struggled against each other in a contest of strength.

 

    “Wh-what the hell? You weren’t this strong before.”

 

    Nero’s expression of angry determination was met with an excited smile from Joker, who appeared to be enjoying the hell out of this fight, much to Nero’s chagrin.

 

    “I know! Weird, right? Heh heh!”

 

    Slipping under their crossed blades, Joker came in low with a high-caliber gunshot, and Nero barely ducked his head back, the bullet grazing a gash over his forehead.   
  
    

_     “Augh!  _ Shit! _ ” _   


  
    He hissed in pain before forcing the thief off with a reflexive boot forward. Joker was able to keep the clumsy impact from doing any real damage with a quick block, but it still send him sliding backwards, and he hopped backward with the momentum before making a sweeping gesture in the air ending with a snap of his fingers.

 

_     “Eigaon!” _

 

    A large wave of red-and-black infernal power formed in the wake of Joker’s arm, and it flew forward with the snap, giving Nero a narrow window to dodge as he clutched at his steaming, already-sealing head wound. He lept to the side, kicking off the wall and rolling into another jump to avoid several follow-up shots.

 

_     Where the hell did he get all this power from?! _

 

    They were on an even field before -- but now, even with his upgrade, Nero was playing catchup, and it was  _ infuriating.  _ He revved the Red Queen to blazing life with an angry grunt, surging forward with a streak of flame as he slashed a burning horizontal arc.

 

_     “BURN!” _

 

_     “Gah!” _

 

    It was faster than Joker was expecting, caught offguard as he was still trying to press the advantage. Fire and steel blitzed across his chest, searing and slashing all at once. It hurt -- but it should have hurt worse, and as Joker was sent flying by a follow-up burst from Overture, he was already recovering his breath. He smashed straight through a wall, making impact against an overturned register in a supermarket. Nero dashed in from the mall corridor as his opponent struggled to his feet, still looking mad as hell.

 

    “Heh heh…”

 

    Joker laughed between ragged breaths as his burns and lacerations sealed themselves shut again, even his outfit quickly following suit.

 

    “Not bad, amigo…”

 

    “Dumb kid… don’t you know --  _ ngh -- _ when to quit?”

 

    Nero looked down and realized one of Joker’s Eigaon bolts had winged his side. It burned, but the adrenaline kept it from being more than a sting.

 

    The pair readied themselves, stancing up to clash yet again, before being rudely interrupted by a flying vending machine whirling through the air between the two.

 

**“WILL YOU BLITHERING FOOLS STOP MAKING ALL THAT CACOPHONY? SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO ENJOY A** **_CIVILIZED TEA TIME,_ ** **THANK YOU.”**

 

    The voice was obviously a demon, with the typical depth and volume of oversized lummoxes -- which only served to make the refined speech pattern all the stranger. The two gawked in the direction of the sound as the machine crashed in a splatter of plastic, cheap metal, and leaking soda behind them.

 

    A fifteen-foot titan of a devil walked calmly towards them, with an unusually human jet-black frame beneath his burning horns and skull-like bovine head. A set of lipless teeth gnawed on what appeared to be an entire rack of baked goods, and his tail dragged a heavy, spear-like barb at the very end that was engulfed in similar fire to the horns.

 

_     { Erudite taurus:  _ **_Asterius_ ** _ } _

 

    Joker and Nero looked from the demon to each other, then back to him.   


  
     **“YOU HUMANS STILL HAVE NO SENSE OF** ** _TACT,_** **I SEE. AT LEAST YOUR CONFECTIONS HAVE IMPROVED SINCE LAST I WALKED THE MORTAL -- ”**

 

    “Oh my  _ god,  _ you’ve gotta be the most pretentious demon I’ve ever killed.”

 

**“EXCUSE ME? I AM VERY MUCH ALIVE, GOOD SIR. ARE YOU AS UNINTELLIGENT AS YOU ARE** **_RUDE?_ ** **”**

 

    Nero cracked a toothy smirk, catching his breath as he took the first strides forward, finally feeling like he was in his element.

 

    “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t get used to that, Angus. You’re not exactly doing much to stand out from my usual headaches, aside from talking funny.”

 

**“MY NAME ISN’T ANGUS, YOU** **_CHARLATAN,_ ** **IT’S** **_ASTERIUS.”_ **

 

    Nero frowned, not used to his jokes actually getting responses.

 

    “No, like -- Angus like angus beef, I -- ah, forget it.”

 

    Joker snickered as Nero’s quip fell flat, twirling Arsene in his hand as he felt the last aftershocks of Overture subside. Asterius began to approach with arms folded, his tail rising from a scorching drag along the tiled floor to up at the ready to enflame and impale.

 

**“I’M AFRAID I’LL HAVE TO TEACH YOU** **_BLATHERING CRETINS_ ** **A LESSON IN** **_PROPRIETY_ ** **, POSTHASTE--”**   
  


    “I’ll take point.”

 

    With that single sentence, Joker flew forward, his coattails whipping behind him as he rose to meet the flaming appendage head-on. It stabbed out at him, as expected, but he blasted himself upward with an aerial Eigaon that brought him into position to vault off the whipping limb and towards the minotaur’s upper body. He delivered a wicked slice along the demon’s neck and arms, drawing a spray of blood as he kicked off and headed back for the ground -- passing by Nero along the way, exchanging a grin with his counterpart’s cocky smile.

_  
_**_“GAAH!_** **YOU PESTULANT LITTLE ROUSTABO--”** **  
** ****

**  
**_“OUTTA MY SIGHT!”_ _  
_

__  
Aided by his grapple wire, Nero delivered a spinning deluge of Red Queen slashes, trailing upward over Asterius’ chest and face after Joker had opened them up. Just like before, they fit together like clockwork -- only accentuated by the thief’s sudden rise in power.

 

    Dammit, he needed to keep up.

 

**_“ARGH!”_ **

    The demon stumbled backward, swinging a wild fist as his tail whipped around blindly and flung out fire at random. Several store displays and shelves were ignited, quicky turning the supermarket into a pyromaniac’s carnival. Nero rose up above the attacks with his wire before poiting Red Queen straight down and revving her engine.

 

    Not resting on his laurels, Joker let free his inner devil, triggering his transformation with control and intent this time. He surged forward with a clanky flap of steel wings, palm placed behind Arsene’s pommel for a driven stab.

 

_     “DOUBLE DOWN!” _

 

_     “THE SHOW’S OVER!” _

 

    Asterius was impaled from two sides, his body invaded by searing steel and dark demonic power. He let loose a cry of frustration and desperation, death creeping in without landing a single attack himself.

 

**“GAAAAAH! HOW -- undignified… urgh.”**

 

    The titan dropped to a knee, in reluctant surrender, as his essence began to collapse.

 

**“...Very well. You’re strong for such classless louts… I will bestow upon you my strength, then. Better to throw in my lot than perish...”** __   
  


    Nero yanked his sword free, prompting a burst of infernal blood, which disintegrated into ashes and light as it flew from the demon, the rest of his body following suit. Joker and Nero dropped as their enemy collapsed and compressed into a sphere of flame, from which a weapon fell.

 

    The Devil Hunter wiped the sweat off his brow as he took in the sight of Joker’s Devil Trigger, frowning with some annoyance.  _Another_ hunter outpacing him. Hadn't he had enough blows to his ego already?

 

    “...Fuuuuuck. I’m tired of playing catch up, man...”

_  
_ Joker didn’t respond, his maw of red fangs giving way to a grinning human visage as his form returned to normal. He held a hand up as he landed to the ground, letting the new devil arm drop into place. It was a burning wire of coiled demonsteel cables, Asterius’ orange flames reddening into Joker’s trademark scarlet as the blazing length coiled within a metal bracer decorated with an embossed, fire-eyed bull skull. At the very end of the wire, a barbed speartip with a wicked hooked curve poked out from the barrel-like port of the bracer’s coil mechanism.

 

    Nero groaned, knowing exactly what kind of display was in store from his experience with the  _ other  _ Devil Arm wielder he knew. And Joker didn’t fail to meet that expectation -- he showed off.

 

    Perfect instincts of how to use the submitting demon’s weaponized form flooded his senses, and Joker whipped around the spear-tipped wire in a dance-like display of crimson fire and razor-edged metal. Scarlet sparks and scorched rubble flew in all directions from the thief as he carved an intricate design into the floor beneath him, ending with a flourishing pirouette that lit all the scratched-in marks into trails of red flame.

 

    It was a rose, of course.

 

    Nero rolled his eyes and started stomping forward, the moment of excitement passed with the demon dismissed.

 

    “Alright, now let’s  _ talk --” _

 

    Joker only replied with a short bow and a wave before firing his new Devil Arm’s wire out  a window and escaping the burning store mall, leaving Nero behind.

 

    “Wait -- ! Dammit!”

 

    Nero reached out in vain, not quick enough to catch the thief with his own grapple.

  
    "Adios!"  
  


    “...Ugh.”

 

    He shook his head, stomping off to find a fire exit in a huff...

  
     _What a jackass._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo ha! Our first rival fight. It won't be the last, but it WILL be the dumbest.
> 
> Asterius was so fun to write that I almost regret killing him off so pathetically, but let's be real, it's Akira AND Nero, what starter boss would stand a chance against that level of cutscene power?
> 
> As always, thanks for your patience, and thanks for reading.


	13. Where Have You Been / Been Searching All Along

**_“WHY… WHY ARE YOU…?”_ **

 

     V sauntered forward, catching his breath as Goliath fell to hands and knees. He smirked, satisfied that the giant was no longer a threat.  
  
      _“Little wanderer… hie thee home.”_

 

     His cane slid into the demon’s forehead like a hot knife through butter, the creature’s disintegrating form no longer able to offer meaningful resistance. As he drew the improvised weapon back from the demon, he felt a hint of pride watching the incandescent colossus fade away to nothing.

 

     Hearing the clatter of steel-toed boots on concrete behind him, V turned around, faced with the young Devil Hunter.

 

     “Handled that all by yourself, huh?”

 

     V brushed a stray strand of blackening hair from in front of his eyes, nodding.

 

     “Indeed. You were running late, so I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.”     
  
     “Right, well, I got caught up in something.”

 

     “I can see that. What kept you?”

 

     Nero frowned, not really sure what to make of the experience he just went through. Joker seemed off his rocker, but fighting alongside him, however briefly, was  _ exhilirating. _

 

     “One of those kids from earlier. Still alive, which I guess is nice, but he’s had a big uptick in being a dick.”

 

     “Ah -- the thief. I’m surprised. I would have thought he’d want to work alongside you.”

 

     “Yeah. Things didn’t go my way. Big change of pace.”

 

     It was a joke, but the way Nero said it was devoid of mirth. V gave him a sympathetic nod before looking behind him at the Qliphoth’s growing core. It was getting massive, much taller than a month before, and with each passing day it was growing  _ faster. _

 

     Something felt off about it today. Big change was in store, he could feel it.

 

     “We should hurry. We need to get further into town.”

 

     “Yeah… you think Dante’s still in there?”

 

     With the thief seemingly gunning for Dante, Nero felt a new drive to find him first.

 

     “If Urizen defeated him, I suspect he’s little more than Qliphoth pollen by now.”

 

     “A what?”

 

     “Qliphoth. It's a tree that grows in the underworld. It thrives on human blood, and those whose blood it sucks, well... let's just say that they don't turn out too well.”

 

     “...Well. Dante’s alive. The kid -- Joker -- he could tell. We follow his trail, we’ll find Dante too.”

 

     “You trust his word even when he turned on you?”

 

     “Might be a thieving little fuck, but he didn’t strike me as a liar. Way too cocky for that.”

 

     V seemed… unaffected. Dante’s continued existence appeared to strike him as little more than a complication.   
  


     “I see. I will take your word for it, then, and you may pursue him if you wish. Before anything, however -- we need to exterminate some Qliphoth roots. It needs to be culled, before its growth becomes any more rampant.”

 

     Nero was unsettled by the lack of reaction. V was Dante’s client, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he give a shit?

 

     The uneasy feeling in Nero’s gut didn’t have long to set in as a burst of rubble and rebar interrupted their conversation. Nico had found a way around, apparently, as evidenced by the oversized van smashing through a storefront near the duo. Nero and V could only stare incredulously as it rolled to a reckless stop next to them, pebbles and dust clouds shaken up in its wake. The window rolled down as the engine cut, and cigarette smoke blended with the debris as it escaped the vehicle.

 

     “I’m late, I know, I know, shut it! The roads were all clogged.” 

     Nero got as far as mouthing the first syllable of ‘we didn’t say anything’ before Nico steamrolled him with more motormouthing.

 

     “Hey, you must be V, huh? You gonna get that? Ding, ding, ding, ding! That there. Right by your feet?”

 

     V looked up at her, equally wordless, before golf-swinging a leftover piece of Goliath’s corpse off the ground. The woman caught it and took a deep whiff, reacting as though it were a bunch of flowers.

 

_      “Hoo-eee,  _ I’m gonna make somethin’ AMAZIN’ outta this!”

 

     Nero pointed with undisguised disgust.

      “Did you just sniff that? Do you have any idea where that’s been?”  
  
     

     Nico didn’t miss a beat.   
  


     “Up yer butt?”

 

     Nero rolled his eyes before turning away.   
  


* * *

 

     The two Devil Hunters had been waiting in the van while Nico was doing… something. She had a curtain up around her workshop area, and there were a number of loud mechanical and percussive noises coming from within. Griffon was perched above her, and had dodged a stray blast of ignited rocket fuel more than once.

  
     “...Change of plans. I’m tailing that kid.”  
  
     Nero wiped ashy demon blood off of Red Queen’s blade, not looking at V as he spoke.  
  


     “You may do so, if you wish. I think we should split into two groups. I have others I need to meet with as well.”

 

     Nero felt a pang of worry, given how their first ‘comrade’ had turned on him.

 

     “Oh, really? Hunting party’s gonna get crowded. They gonna need attitude adjustments too?”

 

     “I doubt it. They  _ are  _ the thief’s companions, but their priorities seem unskewed. Give the thief some time, as well. I believe he is merely joyriding his new power.”

 

     “Companions, huh…? Whatever… I still owe him an asskicking, regardless.”

 

     “Behold, my _ genius!” _

 

     Their brief awkward silence was shattered (yet again) by Nico, excitedly waving around a new Devil Breaker arm. Nero reached for it curiously, but she snatched it back out of his reach.

 

     “Nuh-uh-uh-uh! Cash first.”  
  
     Nero stared in bemusement.

 

     “All the materials I collect for your little pet projects don't count for anything?”

     Nico responded with equal ire, not ready to get stiffed.

 

     “My brilliant, badass work is worth every dime, and you _ know  _ it.”

 

     Nero rolled his eyes, raising up his last remaining Overture, beaten from heavy usage and about ready to fall apart.

 

     “Yeah? Well, your quality control sucks ass, and  _ you _ know it.”

 

     “Or don't let the demons smack you around so much?”  
  
     

     Nero almost tried to launch another comeback before realizing that was a decent point and deciding to concede. 

 

     “Whatever…”  
  
     As Nero rummaged about his jacket, looking for whatever scratch he could spare, Nico admired her quick handiwork. Even if you couldn’t handle her personality, her skills were the real deal -- this thing looked about twenty years ahead of mainstream weapons technology, and she assembled the thing inside of an _hour._ She had to have the schematics finished ahead of time, but even then…

 

     “Heh… I am  _ truly _ gifted! It's a work of art!”

 

     “Heh heh heh… so you're an artist now, huh?” Griffon chortled overhead, still perched above her workstation.

 

     Nico pouted, not taking this insult to her craft  -- nay, her  _ lineage --  _ lying down, especially not from some demonic bucket of KFC.

 

     “Yes, I am! Got any questions, little chicken? My grandmother was called the forty-five caliber virtuoso, a  _ legendary _ gunsmith.”

 

     Griffon didn’t seem convinced. Nico doubled down.

 

      “I hope t’be like her someday. An artist, and a lethal artisan. Everythin’ I create is art, whether it’s a gun, or a steel pot to cook birds in. Anymore questions, huh, little chickee?”

 

     The vulture gave her an incredulous glare before disspelling and returning to V’s tattoos. The summoner stood up, righting himself with his cane.

 

     “I'll take my leave now. And if I don't see you along the way, I'll see you at the bottom of the Qliphoth.”

 

     “Sure,” Nero said, unsure. He turned back to Nico, crinkling his nose as she lit up a smoke. “What’re you gonna do?”

 

     She waved her hand noncommittally and sighed out a cloud of smoke.

 

     “I gotta shake the cobwebs out, I'll let you know. Hey, you got anymore questions, better ask it now.  I can't read minds... well, yet.”

 

     Opting to  _ not  _ ask what the hell that meant, Nero went to investigate the new hardware in Nico’s workshop and see what he could figure out with it. It always took a bit of practice to fully puzzle out what he could do with weapons -- unlike Dante, and apparently Joker, Nero didn’t have the luxury of weaponry that just  _ tells  _ you how to use them as soon as you pick them up.   
  


     He could test it more thoroughly the next time he was back in the field -- he needed to get on Joker’s trail, fast.

 

* * *

 

_      [Sovereign, come in.] _

 

     “I copy, King’s Court.”

 

_      [Another Hunter has entered the quarantine. According to our contact you installed with the military, it’s the Order of the Sword exile from the Fortuna incident.] _

 

     “Nero. He was supposed to arrive today. I remember his dossier. Benign but hotheaded. Low threat level, too averse to the spotlight. I’m sure Lady was glad to see him.”

 

_      [You always do your homework. I suggest rendezvousing with him if you get the chance. Another pair of capable hands should come in handy.] _

 

     “Understood. No new developments here, will keep you posted.”  
  
      _[Copy that. It’s nice not having to hide everything, isn’t it? Now that we’re declassified. I always thought it would be better if the public knew the truth.]_

 

     “It’s simpler, yes.”

 

_      [Just wish it wasn’t because of something like this.] _

 

     “Mm.”

 

_      [...Right. Anyway. Keep an eye out for that Hunter. Over and out.] _

 

     Makoto felt a hint of guilt for being so curt with mission control -- but, frankly, she wasn’t here to chat, she was here to stop a crisis. It wasn’t so hard to be icy with people when she was back in student council, but now she had this stupid sense of compassion and trust to wrestle with thanks to her time with the Thieves. It was nice when she was off-duty, but a liability when she was working. Maybe she was overcompensating, given she’d earned a reputation at headquarters for her supposedly chilly attitude.

 

     Didn’t help that King’s Court was awfully chatty for a radio navigator.

 

     Company would be a welcome change of pace, honestly -- she’d been split up from Ryuji, Morgana, and V for a pretty long time now, only seeing each other every few days to check in, comparing notes and making sure everyone was still alive. 

 

     Red Grave was sprawling, and in its ruined state, maps were only somewhat useful in navigating. Even three weeks since her arrival, Makoto felt like she’d only scratched the surface. Brief expeditions into the Qliphoth itself had been harrowing, but manageable. She had to fight  _ hard  _ in there, and she couldn’t get too deep before hitting various points of no return. Though Makoto had considered going in for the kill each time, she had decided to err on the side of caution and wait to assemble a full hunting party.

 

     Makoto had used the Devil Trigger overclocking protocol a few times, but even with those spikes of energy usage, she still had around a month of usable power left in the Beowulf Kit’s argent cell batteries. She had resources, but needed a lead to use them on -- the trail had gone pretty cold at this point.

 

     Or at least, right up until she spotted a red-and-black flare fly into the air off in the distance. Maybe four klicks away, fired from surface to air at a few swooping winged demons. That didn’t match her dossiers or observations of anyone’s abilities from her current party… and it looked familiar.

 

     Like  _ him. _

 

     She didn’t really want to see him again, but if he was alive, she had to go make contact. The mission came first, not her personal hangups. She was a  _ professional,  _ dammit.

 

* * *

 

     Channeling Eigaon through his handgun was fun while it lasted, but the heavy pistol was made for high caliber rounds, not demonic power, and the abuse had finally caught up with it. With its internal mechanics warped and melted, the thing wasn’t going to fire any time soon. Joker was back to flinging the attack out by hand with a snap of his fingers. Stylish, sure, but still a lot slower without the aid of a firearm.

 

     He could only call on his Devil Trigger so often, however -- it took a lot out of him, and while his control was improving, it was still incomplete. He was slowly easing off of the mania it induced when he first woke up -- he was still determined to get to Rebellion, but his fight with Nero was, frankly,  _ stupid,  _ and he should hae known better, but his soul was screaming for a good fight. Frankly, it still was.

 

     Though his power-trip of demonic energy had nearly worn off, he was still  _ yearning  _ for battle in a way he had never felt before. It was a nagging urge when he was still persisting in the Metaverse, but now, it was an aching hunger, and relieving it was a total delight. He was having the time of his life as he carved a path through demon after demon, in his element and loving it.

 

     It wasn’t far now. The city’s urban sprawl was giving way to cobblestone and marble on the outskirts of some kind of catacombs, half-uprooted and exposed to the open air by the Qliphoth’s ravaging of the earth around it.

 

     Dante was close. That shattered sword was like blood in the water to his senses, and he could feel its presence even though he could  _ also  _ feel something trying to hide it. It’d be enough to dampen the scent to the demons he kept running into, but not him. Something about that sword, broken or not, called out to his spirit. 

 

     Maybe it was the other way -- his spirit was calling the sword.

 

     The demons overhead fell to the ground with bloody  _ splats  _ as his Eigaon attacks ripped through their wings. Approaching him were two demon knights, one horned and indigo with a massive greatsword, and one navy with a sharp beak-like protrusion and a long serrated saber. The first moved with disciplined, slow apprehension, while the other seemed erratic and twitchy, barely restraining its desire to tear Joker limb from limb.

 

_      { Fractured commander:  _ **_Proto Angelo_ ** _ } _

 

_      { Mad raven avenger:  _ **_Corvo Angelo_ ** _ } _

 

     They charged in tandem, twin swords sweeping to each side of the thief. He grinned as he lept up, recognizing that both of the knights  _ absolutely hated  _ the sight of him. He could recognize why, for at least one of them -- that motif was unmistakable. Someone was using the old traitor as a template. Kind of funny, in a sad way.

 

     The other was more vaguely familiar. He wasn’t sure why its appearance gave him an odd sense of deja vu, but regardless, the loathing it casted his way was a delight.

 

     From the air, Joker casted out more bolts of Eigaon, and focused the devilish power inside of him to a more concentrated form as he hit the apex of the jump.

 

_      “Mudo!” _

 

     The wicking red fire solidified into a crimson javelin surrounded by smoky ebon whisps. The scarlet spear shot downward and impaled straight through the black knight’s chest with a grind of splitting flesh and metal. The Proto Angelo shouted in pain and anger, clutching at the wound as the spear dissipated and left a gaping, sizzling wound behind. His counterpart rushed for Joker as he landed, swinging a wild frenzy with its curved blade as the thief bobbed and weaved between them. The avian knight’s berserker barrage came within millimeters of slicing right into Joker’s face more than once, and even sliced off a few locks of his black -- and, as he first noticed in that moment, slightly greying -- hair.

 

     The distraction was enough for the Corvo Angelo to land a spiteful swipe with its clawed offhand, and Joker felt the hateful sting as gashes opened across his guarding arms and chest. The other knight was charging by as Joker hopped backward to get out of reach, and had its zweihander raised for an overhead slam.

 

     It wouldn’t get the chance to finish the attack, as Arsene was buried to the hilt in the black knight’s chin, ending his hatred before the blade could even swing down.

 

     The Proto’s death cry was low and pitiful through a shredded throat, but even that was cut short as Joker ducked the Corvo’s saber swinging from behind him. The slice went into the face of the black knight instead, and the avian knight simply kicked it off from where he struck, giving no respect to its fallen comrade. It shrieked with hatred as it faced Joker again, pointing its blade at him as it leeched some sort of red energy out of the other knight’s corpse. 

 

     The knight’s black carapace twinged with a dark crimson undertone, and Joker realized where the power came from -- it was all stolen human blood, drained from Qliphoth roots.

 

     That gave Joker’s offensive a new edge --  _ disgust.  _ These weren’t just demons, they were  _ parasites,  _ stealing their strength from the innocent people they had killed. They deserved a just comeuppance for their crimes.

 

     He had an epiphany, remembering what drove him to fight beyond simple thrills. Why, even when he was in the thick of the Metaverse on his own, it never felt quite the same as when he was fighting alongside his fellow Phantom Thieves. There was something lacking, something he had forgotten as he sleepwalked through heists and skirmishes with the infernal. There was a higher purpose than himself.

 

     Remembering himself, Joker reawoke to justice.

 

     Arsene’s edge halted the Corvo’s blade with a clang of steel on steel. Sparks flew as Joker slipped free and dragged the knife against the sword with him. He kicked off of the Corvo Angelo’s back, readying his arm as he raised into the air, and freed Asterius’ burning wire from the barrel atop his wrist. Through his airborne arc, he let loose several blazing whip-strikes with the Devil Arm, weakening and breaking up the knight’s armor with the heat and weight of the heavy cable. He gave it one last whip, this time snaring the wire around the demon’s body and trapping him in a constricting wrap of steel and fire. It shrieked, angry, and now fearful.

 

     Joker landed with his back to the knight, and gave an emphatic final yank of Asterius’ wire. The coiling cable tightened once more, snapping and shredding the demon as it burned it to cinders, before finally splitting the knight in two.

 

     The legless torso that dropped in front of Joker thrashed its limbs uselessly in its death throes, still trying to claw at him even as it faded into ash.

 

     Joker knelt down, a calmer smile on his face than his mad grins of the previous few hours.

 

_      “Muy bueno verte de nuevo, viejo amigo.” _

 

     He watched the crow’s shadow fade away before continuing into the damaged landscape, unaware of the federal agent on his trail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Christ, I can't write for shit when I'm off-meds. The first 20% or so of this took almost two weeks to squeeze out while I was waiting for my prescription, but the rest of it was all written today. Thank you pharmaceuticals for letting me use the creative juice.
> 
> Thanks for reading, as always.


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